


What I Tell You Three Times Is True

by BlergDeBlah



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alpha John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Beta Mary, Bonding, Breeding, Come Inflation, Dubious Consent, Forced Breeding, Government Breeding Program, Knotting, Lost Love, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Gore, Multi, Non-Human Genitalia, Off screen oral sex, Omega Molly, Omega Sherlock, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plans of suicide, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Talk of Suicide, Threesome - F/M/M, Ucommon a/b/o dynamics, Weird Biology, attempted self-harm, bonding bites, failed mating, main character illness, marital infidelity, mention of loss of previous children, mentions of drugged sex, off screen het sex, on screen het sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 65,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3109139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlergDeBlah/pseuds/BlergDeBlah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had always found even the idea of the breeding program distasteful, but how else was one to start a family with all the nation's Omegas kept under strict regulation?  So to the facility he and Mary went.  What he discovered when he got there, though, went beyond what he'd ever imagined.  Just below the surface, monsters lurking...</p><p>(My own take on the Omegaverse.  Taking this in a slightly different direction.  I mean, if a universe has three genders, why not use all of them?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! Been a long while since I've written any fanfic, and never for Sherlock, but this is a story that's been in my mind for a long while now. Figured I'd give it a go!
> 
> I currently have no beta or brit-picker, so apologies in advance for any glaring errors.
> 
> Far as the warnings go, I have no plans at this moment to actually *show* any rape in this story, but it's necessary to mention. There will be at least a few scenes of dub-con though, so be aware.
> 
> Anyhow, hope you all enjoy! As I said, I'm a little rusty and my free time is scarce, but I hope I entertain all the same.

The sterile walls of the centre did little to calm John's jittery nerves as he made his way to the “insemination wing.” Usually, considering his chosen profession, the doctor found hospitals soothing. Today, though. Today...

Today John would walk through the doors, fuck a stranger and become a father. Trying to coach things clinically (“insemination wing” indeed) didn't change what he was actually there to _do._ His thoughts flickered briefly to his wife, wondering what Mary must be thinking at this very moment. Granted, all breeding couples went through the process of fertilization via Omega at the various breeding centres, but he couldn't help wondering if the Beta was really as calm about the whole thing as she claimed. He'd heard over the years the various tales of jealous wives, eager to start a family without thinking of the emotional ramifications of blithely sending their Alpha spouses off to spend themselves into a third party. Call a spade a spade, authorized infidelity is what this whole business was. One would think that with all the scientific advances society had made that they'd have found a way to allow for procreation without the Omega in the middle. Biology being what it was, however, that third, rare gender was still a necessary bridge between loving couples and the future generations of the nation. At least the poor sods were essentially mindless. Hard to feel much guilt over screwing what was, essentially, a living yet empty vessel.

Arrived at his destination, the Alpha shook himself from this musings and marched up to to the reception counter, smiling thinly at the prim looking Beta sitting there. No reason to be inefficient about things. Christ, had he ever been so unenthusiastic in his life at the thought of getting laid?

“John Watson?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“Ah, yes,” the receptionist replied, “Doctor Watson. You're a bit early, aren't you? Weren't expecting you until eight.”

John glanced at the clock. 7:23. He'd been in such a rush to get the whole thing over and done with that he hadn't noticed he'd made such good time.

“Oh, sorry 'bout that,” he said, forcing himself to look at least a little chagrined. “Shall I just sit and wait, then?” He glanced down at the red name badge pinned to her starched white uniform. “Berryl?”

Berryl flashed him a pinched, stiff smile. “Let me see how far along they are,” she sniffed. “221B sometimes runs a bit ahead of schedule.” John murmured his thanks as she lifted the phone, cradling the ancient looking receiver with her shoulder as she punched in the number. John studied his hands as she spoke to some unknown staffer on the other end of the line, finding it awkward to just stare at her while he waited. There was nothing much else of interest in the room to occupy his attention. You'd think being a facility geared towards starting families that they'd have put a little more effort into decorating the place. It was downright spartan in comparison to the clinic where John spent his days as a GP.

“Seems they're ready for you now,” he heard Berryl say, drawing his attention back to her mousy face. “Just head back through there,” her hand waved in the general direction of an intimidating door that would have looked more at home in a prison, “and enter the third door on your left. That'll be where you can change and make any,” she paused, mouth briefly pinching in distaste, “ _preparations_ you deem necessary. Doctor Adler will be in to collect you in about fifteen minutes.”

John smiled his thanks as Berryl reached under her desk, pressing something that caused the door to swing open with a soft buzzing sound. He marched down the hallway, stopping before the indicated door. A grey holder hung just to the right of it and John could see the edge of his medical file peeking out the top of it. He fought the sudden, strange urge to grab it and start leafing through it, peruse what his peers' professional medical opinions of him might be. See if there was some reason he and Mary had had to wait four whole years after sending in their application before the centre finally granted their request to start a family. Time constraints however curtailed his curiosity. He had only been given fifteen minutes to disrobe, plenty of time if he didn't dawdle. (What on earth could Berryl have meant by “other preparations?” It truly took all types in this world, didn't it? Probably better off not knowing.)

Closing the door behind him, John stripped methodically, taking time to fold each item with military precision before placing them carefully on plastic chair sitting in the corner. Hospital gowns he found folded neatly in a cubby sitting against the opposite wall. He debated whether to leave his shoes on or go barefoot. Years of working as a medical man made him cringe at the thought of the possible pathogens coating the floors. _Especially at a facility meant for **breeding**_ he shuddered to himself. However his good manners inwardly chastised him at the thought of showing up for what was supposed to be a pretty spectacular shag wearing _shoes._ In the end, a little more digging through the cubby turned up a variety of sandals, one pair of which fit John just fine. He was just slipping them on when he heard a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called, smoothing down the front of his gown. A Beta, presumably Dr. Adler, opened the door, eyes glued to John's chart which she had gripped in one of her perfectly manicured hands.

“Good morning Dr. Watson,” she drawled, sharp blue eyes rising from the chart to finally greet John. “Must be eager to get going, showing up so early. Hmmm?” She grinned at him, a predatory smile that set her eyes sparkling, doing nothing to put John at ease.

“Must be that military training of mine,” he said, smiling wanly, trying to keep his face from looking too pained. It still must have shown, though, since Dr. Adler's smile grew.

“Now, now,” she chuckled darkly, “I know how you Alphas are. Even the thought of breeding an Omega gets you all hot and bothered.” Her bright white teeth managed to flash even in the dull light of the room's fluorescent fixture. “Believe me, I understand the appeal.”

John sighed, his nervousness shortening his usually interminable easy going temperment. “Look,” he ground out, “can we just get on with it? I'm here because my _wife_ and I are looking to start a _family._ If I could do that without all of,” he waved he hands around loosely, gesturing at the room, “all of _this,_ I would. So can you please not make this any more awkward for me than it already is?”

His harsh words quickly stripped Dr. Adler of her shark smile, leaving her face a study in stony disapproval. However, obviously having had some kind of appropriate training, she gave no harsh words in reply, merely motioned toward the door.

“Please follow me, Dr. Watson,” she said stiffly, turning to march smartly down the hallway, high-heeled shoes clicking on the tiled floors. John shuffled awkwardly behind her, trying his best to keep his gown from fluttering open. They made their way to the end of the hallway to yet another intimidating door, this one with a keypad to the side. What in the world did they need so many precautions for? Dr. Adler must have noticed John's curious expression as the side of her mouth quirked up.

“I know it may seem strange to you, being so _happily_ married,” she smirked despite John obviously bristling at her dig, “but not all Alphas are so marriage oriented. If our patients thought there was any way they could bring one of our breeders home for themselves, believe me they'd do it.” Her eyes darted over to the keypad, red painted nails flying quickly over the keypad. “Believe what you like, Dr. Watson, but we _do_ take our jobs seriously here. Protection of our country's future children is of the utmost importance, and our Omegas provide that future.” Her glittering eyes jumped back to John's face as the door swung open, no doubt drinking in his chagrined expression. “Don't worry Doctor,” she said cheekily, “I promise we'll take good care of you, too.”

This door led them to yet another hallway with the distinction that this one had windows lining the walls, offering glimpses of yet more sterile rooms. John noticed, though, that each room seemed to hold a bed of some sort, each one having what looked like velcro restraints hanging from the corners. Dr. Adler's sharp eyes again latched onto John's fleeting expression.

“I assure you,” she said quickly, “the restraints are for all parties protection. I'm sure, being a medical man yourself, you know how frenzied an Omega's heat can make them.”

“So I've heard,” he said curtly.

“Well the poor dears,” she said, adopting a sympathetic expression, “they get so wound up sometimes that they get what some might call, _aggressive.”_ Here she smirked again, much to John's irritation. “Not to mention all those Alpha hormones of your own. Imagine those violent impulses of yours being triggered because of a perceived Omega attack when really, the little lamb has just gotten a bit overexcited!” She was grinning now, obviously enjoying riling John up as he ground his teeth, fighting not to say anything else and make matters worse. “Yes,” she said airily, “much safer for all involved if the Omega is restrained. Never mind all the avoided lawsuits.”

Finally, Dr. Adler stopped at one of the doors. A curtain was drawn over the window of this room so John couldn't see what was waiting for him inside. Seeping out into the hallway, though, was perhaps the most delicious smell he'd ever encountered. Sweet yet musky, faint yet affecting him so strongly that he could feel his heart rate increasing, his face flushing slightly as his cock started to swell. This smell, it was something dark, primal and soon, he would be getting more than just a faint taste. He didn't have to look over at Dr. Adler to know she was grinning at how he was being affected. He would have felt embarrassed if he wasn't so damn aroused.

“You have two hours,” Dr. Adler said, tapping him on the shoulder to make sure he was listening to her words. “We won't enter the room, but we have a camera inside and will be visually monitoring your session.” She held up a placating hand as John turned to glare at her. “A necessary safety measure, I assure you,” she said soothingly. “We will give you as much privacy as we can, but we must make sure both of you are safe and abiding by the rules.” She pointed a finger, jabbing it into his chest. “Do _not_ remove the restraints or the collar. If you do, your session will be terminated immediately. You are also not allowed to injure or abuse the Omega. Though,” John nearly rolled his eyes as he saw the smirk return, “that doesn't mean you can't have a vigorous session, which I'm sure you'll be up for.” She grinned as she glanced down, eying John's obvious arousal where it was tenting the front of his gown. “ _Very_ vigorous indeed!”

“My _god_ don't you ever stop?” John groaned.

“Nope!” she replied with a feral smile. “Now, Doctor Watson,” she said, opening the door with a flourish, “it's show time!” With that, she shoved John into the room. He sound of the door locking behind him was the last thing John registered before the sight and the smell of the man strapped to the bed in front of him caused all thought processes in his brain to simply stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead (which I'm not sure even needs to be noted, this being omegaverse and all).
> 
> Also, obligatory dub-con warnings for this chapter.

It wasn't until he was across the room and running possessive hands across the Omega's back that John's brain kicked back on. A low, rumbling growl was coming from somewhere in the room and it took long moments before he realized he was the source of the sound. He jumped back from the bed, hands shaking as he realized what had just happened. The Alpha had always prided himself on not being a slave to his biology, never using the excuse “Alphas will be Alphas” to excuse any of his behaviours or actions. Now, not even a minute into his time with his soon to be breeding partner and he was no more than a great, slavering beast. Deep pulses of shame coursed through him, gaining strength as he realized that his revelation had done nothing to tamp down his arousal. His cock still stood at attention, jutting proudly from his body, ready for what it knew was soon to come. John swallowed around the sudden nausea he felt as he stared at the prone, bound figure laid out before him.

It surprised him how masculine the Omega looked. Though slender of build, there was no mistaking the broad shoulders and tapering torso as anything resembling feminine. He knew from his schooling that Omegas would generally take on either Alpha or Beta secondary sexual characteristics, but he'd still imagined them as looking more in-between. Something more blended and in the middle. This Omega, though, this _man,_ looked like a man should look. At least from the back.

Nervously, John inched back toward the bed, breathing shallowly to try and avoid losing himself to the delicious cocktail of pheromones that had sent him reeling moments before. Mindless the Omega may be, that didn't mean he had to fall onto it like an animal. He rested a hand on its flank, taking in the warmth pouring off of it. Omega heats were always accompanied by mild fevers, their bodies pushing them to _find-fuck-mate,_ satisfy their sole biological imperative. He felt the skin under his palm tremble slightly, and he found himself absently stroking the Omega's side, murmuring reassuring noises as he did. Although if asked beforehand he'd have said he'd preferred a more Beta-like Omega to breed, he found himself entranced by the its beauty. The Omega was long and lithe, would likely measure well over 6 feet if standing, with pale skin like porcelain and a smattering of freckles and moles dancing across its surface. A shock of dark, curly hair graced its head, just long enough to fall down and hide its face. It was pushed up on its knees and elbows, Velcro straps encircling its slender wrists and ankles. Its long fingers gripped the bedclothes, twitching sporadically. Almost expressively. John found himself remembering a set of hands much like these, lovingly caressing a violin, held together in a steeple under a pointed chin while their owner meandered in their mind, lost in their own thoughts...

John shuddered slightly, letting the memories wash over him. It had been years since he'd thought of Sherlock. Thoughts of his college beau used to come accompanied with a sharp, aching bitterness, but time had helped to soften the harshness, leaving him able to remember more of the happy times than the awful mess it was at the end. It was a small mercy, he supposed, rubbing his hand along the Omega's heated flesh, that his breeding partner reminded him of someone he'd loved. Still loved. Would make the whole thing seem less clinical and more...human.

“Hello lovely,” he whispered, smiling as the Omega cocked its head, seeming to listen. “I know you can't understand me, but I hope you know that, I-I'm glad. That it's you who's helping me to start a family.” He let his hand wander down the Omega's back, fingers absently tracing between moles. “I wish I knew your name,” he said softly, “but since I don't, I hope you won't mind if I give you one. Just for our time together.” The Omega made a soft noise, almost like it was agreeing. John figured it just liked the touch of his hand in its fevered state. “You see,” he whispered, “you remind me of someone. Someone I loved a great deal. He and I were never able to be together in...this particular way,” he paused, indulging himself briefly and letting his fingers run through the Omega's inky curls. They were soft, just like he'd imagined. “So, I'm going to imagine that this is it. Our first time together. Just like it's really yours and my first time together.” He tightened his fingers a bit, gripping the Omega's hair gently. _“Sherlock.”_

The Omega jumped under his hands, the long body jolting forward as a string of jumbled consonants spilled from its mouth. John drew back in alarm.

“I'm sorry,” he said worriedly, “was that a little too rough for you?” The Omega was trembling, though whether in excitement or distress he wasn't sure. “I'm sorry darling,” he said quickly, returning his hand to run soothingly along its back. The Omega calmed immediately, tension oozing from its body as it rumbled out a happy, wordless sound. The dark, rich timbre affected the Alpha and he closed his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath.

“Christ you even _sound_ like him,” he breathed. “Oh, _Sherlock.”_ The Omega moaned, arching into John's touch. “Oh you like when I call you that then?” he asked, a smile creeping across his tanned face. _“Sherlock.”_ He laughed delightedly as the Omega moaned again, wriggling under John's hands eagerly. “Alright Sherlock,” he grinned, “now that introductions are in place, I'd say it's time you and I made a baby. Whaddaya say?” He laughed again as the Omega made another happy noise, moving back to the end of the bed and laying his hands on the round globes of the Omega's upturned ass.

The smell was even stronger back here, originating from the slick, natural lubrication that was seeping from the Omega's anus and dripping down its thighs. He looked further down, curious to see what an Omega member looked like in the flesh (text books were just never the same), but to his surprise found it encased in some sort of metallic cylinder with tubes and wires running out of it, completely hiding the flesh from his view. _Must be how they're getting Mary's eggs into it_ he thought. His wife had come in about three weeks prior for her egg harvesting. He'd wondered how they were planning on getting them into the Omega to mix with his own seed, figuring they'd probably perform some kind of procedure on it later. This was probably a more humane approach, though, let them avoid an unnecessary surgery. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the puckered flesh above.

“God,” he whispered, “I can't get over the _smell_ of you. I could just eat you up...” He paused, wondering at the appropriateness of what he was contemplating, then decided to simply go for it and leaned in, running his tongue up along the Omega's crack, laving across the source of the heavenly smelling liquid. The Omega jumped in his hands, letting loose a breathy moan and John chuckled, drinking in the reaction. “Oh yes,” he hissed, “you _really_ like that.” He did it again, indulging himself in the smell and taste of his partner, lapping at the fluid as he flicked and licked his way into its source, causing the Omega to writhe beneath him. This had always been one of his favourite parts of sex, the reactions of his partners as he worked to please them. It was one of the things he'd hated most about the whole concept of the breeding centre, that he was expected to come in and simply _take._ He was glad he'd found a way around the inherent selfishness of the act to make it seem a little more natural.

He was surprised at how loose the Omega's hole already was, but he supposed that was just the heat again. It made sense that its body would make accommodations for the largeness of an Alpha member to enter such a small space without causing damage. He found himself growling at the thought that soon, _he_ would be in _there,_ wrapped up in all that lovely, sweet slickness. The Omega was mewling steadily now as he pointed his tongue, fucking into its pliant body as he reached below to palm his throbbing cock.

“You're ready for me, aren't you?” he rasped, dragging his faint stubble along the Omega's buttocks and smearing its slick across his face. “I can feel how ready you are for me,” he snarled, bringing a hand down to snake a finger into its hole, causing a full body shudder in the poor, rutting creature. It slipped in so easily that he quickly added another, pistoning them into his partner, causing it to howl. “Yeah,” he smirked, “yeah you're ready for me.” He withdrew his fingers, taking a moment to pop them into his mouth, sucking them clean before reaching down to draw up his hospital gown. His member twitched as it was fully exposed, seeming to jump along with his racing pulse as he took himself in hand. He brought it up to his partner's cleft, smearing the head of it along its gaping, leaking hole, mixing its slick with his own copious pre-come. He licked his lips, savouring the moment as he teased himself, holding himself back from that final plunge.

The Omega pushed back, clearly growing desperate to be filled, making slurred, irritated sounding noises. John laughed darkly. “Alright Sherlock,” he growled, “since you're asking me so nicely.” He began pushing in, fully intended to go slowly, struggling to keep his gown from impeding the spectacular view of his cock entering the Omega, _his_ Omega for the moment, sinking in inch by glorious inch.

“Oh god,” he gasped, mind stuttering on the _heatwarmthtightness_ encasing him, shuddering at the rightness of it all. “Oh, _Sherlock!”_

The Omega, clearly not feeling John's same sense of caution, suddenly and swiftly shoved back onto his cock, impaling itself fully on the engorged member. John shuddered then froze, hands clawing up to grasp the Omega's hips. _“Jesus,”_ he gasped. The Omega simply moaned in response, and then began to move.

It took only moments for John to recover, gripping the Omega's hips firmly and beginning to thrust back. It was _glorious,_ the feeling of pounding into the slick, tight channel encasing him, twitching around him and reacting to his every move. He'd never experienced anything like it. He'd always assumed mating with an Omega would be similar to the various Beta encounters he'd had over his lifetime but nothing, not even sex with Mary, could hold a candle to the feeling of _rightness_ that settled in his bones as he slid enthusiastically into his Omega. It was like he'd finally found his true calling.

The Omega had started making high pitch cries, rocking back eagerly into John's thrusts, body trembling lightly. John could feel the walls of its channel start to spasm lightly, the Omega's cries taking on a sense of urgency. “Oh Sherlock,” he moaned, “you're gonna come for me, aren't you?” The Omega picked up its pace, slapping back into John at a feverish pace. “That's it love,” he crooned, “oh yes, come on, come for me. Come for me love. Let me see it...”

The Omega let out a long, thin wail, back arching and hands scrabbling as it pulsed around John's cock. “Oh god,” John whimpered, “yes, _yes Sherlock_ god _yes_ come for me!” He gasped, feeling a new throbbing sensation centred around the base of his cock. “Oh,” he gasped, “Sherlock, god, my _knot,_ I'm going to _knot_ you oh god...” He leaned forward, draping himself along the Omega's long, pale back, drinking in the slight shivers running through it as it came down from its orgasm. “Do you want it, Sherlock?” he whispered. “My knot? I've never knotted anyone before,” he gasped needlessly. He shuddered with the new sensation, grinding against the Omega's ass, letting the edge of his knot press against his partner's rim. The Omega groaned, pushing back slightly against the swollen girth, body trembling and eager.

“You want it then?” John asked softly. “You want me to knot you?” He buried his face in the Omega's hair, climbing up to kneel on the bed without pulling out, aching to get close, _closer._ “Please Sherlock,” he whispered, “please let me knot you.”

With a choked off gasp, the Omega began pushing back forcefully, drawing John's expanded flesh into its body bit by bit. John whimpered at the feeling of his partner's rim stretching around him, delving deeper into its warm centre. “Oh _yes_ love,” he gasped, “oh I can feel you, feel you taking me.” He ghosted his lips along the back in front of him, smearing soft, worshipful kisses along each vertebrae. Legs trembling slightly, he bore himself further down, further, and then suddenly, the Omega's rim snapped tight around the base of him, locking him inside.

John howled as his orgasm rushed through him, triggered by the proper knotting. The room went grey and fuzzy as he spent pulse after pulse of his seed into the Omega beneath him. He could vaguely hear the faint, pleased crooning sounds his partner was making and he unthinkingly reached out a hand, tangling it with the Omega's long fingers, looking to find a way to ground himself as his brain seemed to empty itself out through his cock.

He felt it when the Omega's legs finally gave out, collapsing them both onto the bed, John still firmly knotted inside. He would be for at least another half hour or so, nature's way of ensuring proper insemination. John groaned contentedly, remaining happily draped along the Omega's back until it began writhing underneath him, making soft complaining sounds at being trapped under the Alpha's full weight. Mumbling a soft, apologetic sound, John re-arranged them until he was spooning the Omega from behind, both of them crowded together on the narrow bed.

He patted the Omega's hair fondly, leaning forward to kiss its cheek in thanks. He could feel the post coital lethargy taking over, dragging him down into sleep. Smiling happily, he forced himself to mumble out, “Love you Sherlock,” before he fully faded, wanting to end this first breeding session with words of affection.

It wasn't until he was down, too far down to resurface, that he heard the rumbled reply, “You too, John,” before sleep took him fully and Morpheus claimed his due.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case this chapter didn't clear it up, in this verse, it takes all three genders to make a pregnancy happen. Alphas and Betas are pretty much what biologically born males and females are in the real world, but Omegas are kind of their own thing (hence the gender-neutral pronouns). So if alien biology isn't quite your deal, well, may not be the story for you.
> 
> These are the only two chapters I have written so far. Would love to find a beta, as that would make my writing process a lot faster. Otherwise, I'll update as I can! Thanks all for the kudos and love for the previous chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Wakefulness returned to John slowly, head groggy and mouth dry with a faintly bitter taste coating his tongue. Groaning, he shook his head, trying vainly to blink moisture back to eyes that seemed crusted shut after long disuse. How long was he out? Had the insurgents managed to capture him? He reached out blindly, feeling around for his gun or med-pack, a vague croak emerging from his throat as he tried to call for the rest of his platoon. Had they, too, fallen into enemy hands?

“Dr. Watson?”

His head snapped toward the voice. _They knew his name! How?_

“Dr. Watson, are you back with us?”

Practically panting with anxiety, John forced his eyes open, squinting immediately against the blinding brightness of the room around him. He could vaguely make out the blurry shape of a figure seated at the end of the...bed? They'd given him a bed then? Rather polite for terrorists, then.

“Dr. Watson?” the figure asked again, a smooth female voice that sounded almost, somehow, familiar. He was missing something here. Where the hell was he? The figure, finally catching on to his confusion, scooted closer to him along seemingly rumpled sheets.

“Dr. Watson,” she asked sharply, “do you know where you are?”

“...'M Cap'n Watson,” he muttered. “Fi'f Nor...Normber...Northumberland...”

“Ah,” the woman said, finally cottoning on. “No, Dr. Watson, you're not in an insurgent encampment. You're in the breeding centre, do you remember?” Shaking his head against the continued fog, his memories finally began trickling back to him. The woman...Dr. Adler. Bright, white teeth and...far from charming and his...his omega, his... _his..._

“Where is he?” John hissed, suddenly, violently awake. _“Where have you taken him?”_

“Him?” Dr. Adler asked, a perfectly manicured eyebrow creeping toward her hairline. “You mean the omega?”

_“Mine,”_ John growled dangerously. “He...he's not a _thing,_ not a...not _mindless..._ ”

“The _omega,”_ she said coolly, “is hardly yours, Dr. Watson.” A cruel smile stretched across scarlet lips, eyes sparkling with malice. “Not so eager to talk about your wife now, hmm doctor?” John blinked, brain buzzing with thoughts of _SherlockSherlockSherlock_ as this... _harpy_ yammered at him. “You alphas,” she sneered, “you're all alike in the end. Acting like you've got some kind of moral high ground, like you're _better_ somehow, but you all fall in the end. Just another knot drooling for a nice wet hole to fill.” 

The dark laugh she gave after this last pronouncement grated at John's last nerve. “I'll not ask again,” he snarled, “where have you _taken_ him?”

She stared at him silently for a long moment. “Somewhere safe,” she finally said. “Somewhere an alpha like you can't follow.” Her smile grew as John heard another menacing growl spill out from his drawn back lips, teeth bared in aggression. “You're experiencing a textbook alpha reaction,” she said, expression dripping with disdain. “Aggressive displays, possessiveness, territorial posturing, _threats,”_ her eyes crinkled in amusement as John's growls died down, embarrassment beginning to creep in over his lack of self control. “This is why we drug you all when it comes time to move the omega.”

_“Drug?”_ John barked, “you _drugged_ me? Don't you need our consent for that?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “As if any of you would agree to it voluntarily. Simple enough to pump it in through the air vents and inform you of it after the fact.”

“What if I'd had some kind of reaction?” he spluttered furiously. “What the hell kind of hospital is this!”

“Why do you think we vet our recipients so carefully?” she retorted. “You underwent countless medical examinations before you even reached this point, what the hell did you think all those tests were for?”

_“Virility!”_ he bellowed, face reddening in his rage.

“In part!” she yelled back. _“Really_ Dr. Watson I _had_ hoped for better from you! Keep this up, and I guarantee the next action I take will be advising our board you are barred from your next two sessions!”

That, finally, served to tamp down some of John's anger. Still seething, he bit his tongue to keep from biting out anything else to this horror of a beta. If he had any chances of finding out more about him, about _Sherlock_ -he could still scarcely believe it ( _love you too, John_ )- he had to be able to return. Taking deep, calming breaths, doing his best to keep from looking at the infuriating woman again, he felt his blood pressure finally returning to somewhere within the realm of normal. Calm. He had to remain calm.

“My apologies, Dr. Adler,” he finally mumbled. “I must confess, this whole business has been...”

“Yes,” she interrupted smugly, “I imagine it must have been rather overwhelming.”

“That's one way of putting it,” he muttered.

“Well,” she said dismissively, “the whole drugging business is for the omega's safety anyway. Completely non-negotiable.” She met John's derisive stare with a dismissive hand flap. “You're not the first to want to hold on to our breeders. Makes extraction a non-lethal proposition.”

“Yes I, I imagine so,” he replied.

“Far as your session went,” she continued, “we'll let you know if this session was successful after the _ovogestational_ period is completed. Should be about two weeks from now. You'll be notified once it is so you can return for your next session.”

“And it's two more, right?” John asked anxiously. “After this one?”

“Should be,” she said. “Depending on how long 221B's oestrus lasts. You're very fortunate actually,” she drawled leaning in conspiratorially. “This one's usually lasts a bit longer than most.” She sighed, a fond smile creeping across her face. “Fantastic breeder, really.”

“Yes,” John said hurriedly, hoping to head off any more of her long, inappropriate musings on omega/alpha relations. “I'll just, erm, you have showers here?” It occurred to him, suddenly, that he'd been sitting nude throughout the entire altercation, dried patches of god knows what still clinging to his skin, pasting his flaccid cock to one of his lightly furred legs. “Maybe my clothes, too,” he muttered, fumbling for one of the rumpled, sex-mussed sheets, trying for one last-ditch attempt to salvage whatever was left of his tattered dignity. He frowned at the faint tittering he heard drifting from the beta doctor who had since risen to her feet.

“Don't mind me Doctor Watson,” she smirked, “nothing I haven't seen here before.” She turned and made her way to the door, pausing at the keypad John hadn't noticed recessed into the wall to type in the exit code. _Protected entrance and exit_ he noted silently, brain already scrambling through what he remembered of the building's layout and various security measures.

“If you can find it in you to rouse yourself, I can show you where you can clean yourself up,” Dr. Adler called over her shoulder. Chuckling over John's still uncoordinated attempts to extricate himself from the bed, she exited the room once he'd managed to get his feet under him, leaving John to trail down the hall after her, still naked and exposed to any who might be passing by.

* * *

An hour later saw John clean and dressed and walking down the street toward the tubes, thoughts racing. 

_Sherlock._ John was sure it was him. As much as he racked his brain, forcing himself to replay, methodically and painstakingly, every interaction he'd had with the staff in front of the staff he still couldn't think of a single instance where anyone had used his first name in front of the omega. _The omega,_ that thought still sent his head spinning. To picture the great Sherlock Holmes as anything but the brilliant, towering alpha John had known him to be seemed sacrosanct somehow. Even after his horrific death, a fall which still left John scarred to this day despite the passing years. When he'd tried for some unfathomable reason to convince his partner, his _lover_ that he was a fraud, John still found himself steadfastly convinced of the man's genius.

How had he survived the fall? Why was he in the breeding centre? Looking and acting, as far as John could tell, like any stereotypical omega? Even though his genitals had been hidden by that strange metal tubing, there was no getting around the distinct lack of testes. Could they have been removed? John didn't remember seeing any scarring, but he admittedly hadn't been paying the best attention at the time. However, how did that explain the _heat itself?_ John couldn't think of anything that could have mimicked the lubrication or the hormonal smorgasbord he'd been confronted with.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe it had only been an omega John had been with. An omega that looked, felt and sounded exactly like his dead love. How had it spoken to him, then? A mindless, heat stricken omega that, unlike any other of its kind, had _spoken to John?_

Sherlock had had a saying that was now ringing in John's head, as if the man himself was walking next to him: _When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._ John knew, knew that the omega he'd just been with, had possibly fertilized was, if not Sherlock himself, somehow tied with the man. No matter what the ultimate answer was, John was sure of one thing. There was no way in hell he was leaving the omega to rot in that terrible centre. No matter the cost, John was going to find a way to set him free.

Now all he had to do was convince Mary that her husband had not, in fact, taken complete leave of his senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took a bit longer than I thought it would! Apologies to any who may still be waiting on updates to this story, my life is not very conducive to writing sometimes. I will continue to peck away at this, but unfortunately I can't make any promises on the frequency at which I'll add things on. It will simply have to happen as it happens.
> 
> I've had this much written for well over a month now, and was planning on adding more, but have decided to simply post this little part to encourage myself to keep trucking along. Which I will! So stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, John and Mary have a conversation. This goes about as well as can be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooo everybody! Sorry for the stupidly long wait.

John figured if he kept his fingers clenched tightly enough around the cool, sweating surface of the tumbler he was gripping, it would keep his hand from noticeably trembling. It seemed like Mary should have been home at least an hour ago, but his jangling nerves kept him glued in his chair without interest in properly checking the time. Instead, he went over and over again how to explain the situation. “Hello dear, how was your day? Mine? Well, you see, I went in thinking I was going to breed an anonymous omega and _instead...”_ No matter how he tried to explain, he was going to sound mad. There was no way around that. Mary had always been sharp, though, far more observant than most. Surely she would come around if John simply explained himself well enough. Would reach the same conclusions he had, that the omega and Sherlock had to be one and the same.

He absently sloshed his drink, the ice long since melted in with the whiskey he'd poured, leaving it tepid and weak. He couldn't even remember if he'd bothered to drink any of it, pouring it more out of a need for something to do. A simple, familiar action to ground him as he felt ready to fly apart. He had never been a big drinker. Watching many of his family members drink themselves into soggy brains and early graves had ways of lessening the appeal. It was, however, a tried and true Watson tradition. Dad lost his job again? Pour yourself a drink. Mum sick and in hospital? Be a good lad and pour a round for the lot of us. Sister kicked out of school for being found in the supply closet with the headmaster's daughter? Reach for the dwindling bottle. Even if he didn't actually imbibe, the ritual of it helped calm him. Pulling out the glass, plunking the ice cubes into the waiting tumbler, watching as the amber liquid kissed around their chilled, translucent edges, clinking gently as they swirled, cradling the glass as condensation started to bead along its sides. Any comfort, even a small one borne of his broken family, he would take as he formulated what he planned to say. 

Never had he been so nervous to talk to his wife. It wasn't that he thought she would respond in anger, it's that he couldn't bear the thought of the look of disappointment and worry on her face. _Ah yes, poor John. Went to make us a baby and came home broken and mad._ It wasn't that Mary hadn't seen him poorly before, she'd been one of his nurses after getting invalided home for god's sake! It just seemed that in their relationship, she was always the strong one holding them together. Help heal his wounds, heal his heart, make arrangements for him to start at his medical practice with an acquaintance of hers. In fact, much of his current life was due to the efforts of his wife. Even their wedding was almost entirely her doing, all John having to manage in the end was showing up and trying not to throw up on her shoes out of sheer nerves. It wasn't that he bought into the myth of the dominant Alpha male lording over delicate Betas and omegas alike, John just always liked to feel like he was doing his part. That he was useful, more than just Mary's Charity Case. So, how to make her believe? That he wasn't mad for believing he'd just mated with his long dead lover (though he scarcely believed it himself)?

So immersed in his circular train of thought was the poor doctor, he completely missed the jangling, scuffling sound of someone dropping their keys outside the front door, followed by irritated muttering floating softly into his dimly lit home as he sat brooding, lost in his musings. Distracted to the point that when the door finally flew open, banging noisily against the wall, he nearly dropped his drink as he heard Mary breeze into the entryway.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” she called out over the metallic clink of keys being placed on the entry table. “I tried to be here sooner but you would not believe the day I've had! I'm sure it was nothing compared to the adventures you've managed,” she prattled on as he heard her heading toward the kitchen, no doubt looking for him. He shrank back into his chair, nerves singing shrilly and striking him dumb as waited for her to find him. “I tell you now,” she said as she finally rounded the corner, “if Dr. Carson mysteriously disappears between now and tomorrow, I'm counting on you as my airtight alibi...” she wound down as she spotted him, quickly taking in his no doubt miserable expression and the general gloom of the room.

“Oh love,” she sighed, coming to stand in front of him. “Was it really all that bad?” She sank down next to him on the sofa, eyes narrowing slightly as they came to rest on his hand. “Bit early for all that, don't you think?” she asked gently, nodding toward the tumbler as she reached out to rest a hand on his leg. His eyes wandered down to where her wedding band sparkled, catching the last bits of daylight seeping past the drawn blinds. He sighed, reaching out to cover her hand, grasping at the last bits of comfort he could before he took the plunge.

“I'm not drunk,” he said softly, stalling. “If that's what you're thinking.” He sighed, rubbing his slightly sweaty hand gently over hers. “I just thought...I don't know. I just wanted it while I thought things out.” A ritual. A fortification.

“We discussed this already John,” Mary said softly. Soothing and placating, like gentling a spooked animal. Her sad, broken husband. She turned her palm up, linking their fingers together as she murmured, “We both decided that the time for children was now and-”

“No,” he said abruptly, pulling away from her slightly. _I am not weak, I am not-_ “No, that's- you've got it wrong.”

“Got what wrong?” she asked, a slight look of mild hurt flitting across her face at John's withdrawal. _God, botching this already. Pull it together Watson._ He reached out to grasp Mary's hand back in his, squeezing firmly, trying to convey a sense of connection. He wanted her here, wanted her understanding. Distance was not the aim. He set his glass down on the nearby end table, turning his body so he was angled more towards her. She chewed her lip, eyeing him as she watched him warring with his words. He searched her pretty, rounded face, visually tracing the familiar, well loved pathways, willing his thoughts to coalesce into something cohesive he could pour out. She reached over and patted his leg encouragingly with her free hand. Always patient, always kind.

“Do you...” He trailed off, huffing out a soft laugh as he looked away. _Maybe easier if you don't have to watch her reactions._ “You're going to think I'm mad.”

“Well you're not really doing much to dissuade me already, John,” she said bemusedly. His eyes shot back up, searching her face earnestly. He _needed_ her to believe this. “Sorry,” she said immediately when she caught his expression. “You're trying to be serious.”

“I _am_ serious, Mary,” he said softly, peering again at her well-loved face. _God what I wouldn't give for the right words..._ John drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He could see Mary's concern increasing every moment he stayed silent. _So dramatic, Watson._ Better that he just get this over with. The more he built it up, the worse it would become. Drawing one last fortifying breath, he plunged in.

“Do you remember Sherlock Holmes?” 

He thought he felt her stiffen for a moment, a slight flurry of something passing quickly through her eyes before her expression settled into one of confusion. “That was...” she paused, eyes sliding to the side. “That was your college sweetheart, wasn't it?” She cocked her head, obviously trying to follow this new conversational path. “The one who...”

“Yes,” John huffed, the dulled pain of those memories still sending a small ache through his chest even after all the years. Even with what had happened today. He looked down at their joined hands. “The one who...who _killed_ himself.” He paused, the ache flaring slightly. Grief never truly fades altogether. Although... _although..._ “At least I thought he did.”

Mary jerked back, pulling her hand away, face a pale mask of shock. “What do you mean _thought_ he did?” she asked sharply. _Mary Watson's poor, mad husband._

“No,” he said, grabbing her hand back, clutching it desperately. _Please believe me please-_ “Look, I swear to you I'm not crazy. Or drunk!” he added as he saw Mary raise a sceptical eyebrow. “Listen, I know what it sounds like, believe me, but if you'd, if you'd seen him-”

“Seen him how, John?” she exclaimed, her hand trembling slightly in his. “Seen _what?_ What are you _talking_ about?”

John bowed his head, pulling in a shuddering breath. _Now or never, Watson._ “It was Sherlock,” he whispered. “Mary, the Omega I saw today was Sherlock, I'm sure of it.”

The silence stretched out long between them. Finally, a soft titter trickled out from Mary's lips. He raised eyes to find his wife, shaking her head, a look of pity and horror painted across her face. _Just as bad as we imagined, old boy._ “Oh god,” she finally whispered, “oh- oh my god. I mean, I knew you didn't like the thought of The Centre, and the whole...but I never thought-”

“I'm not delusional!” John cried. “I know it sounds incredible, but-”

“You're damn right it sounds incredible!” she exclaimed. “I thought you said he was brilliant!”

“He was! ...Is!” he corrected himself quickly. _In for a penny-_ “He is brilliant!”

“So you're telling me this omega you saw, what?” she snapped, withdrawing her hand and crossing her arms defensively across her chest. “Started reciting the periodic tables? Solved the crime of who-didn't-empty-the-last-bedpan based on the smudge on one of the nurse's shoes?”

Her condescension was too much, added in with the strangeness and stress he'd been facing all day. John felt something crack inside, a wild, thrilling pull dragging him to his feet to defend himself. _I am NOT weak I am NOT-_

“He said my name, Mary!” he roared as he rose to his feet, watching as her eyes to widened in shock. “I know it was him because he said my god damn name and I don't know _how_ it's him or _why_ he's at the Centre but so help me _god-”_ He stopped mid tirade, finally taking in the blank expression on his wife's face. He realized that he'd crowded her, looming over her with promise of threat and violence pouring off of him in waves.

John was, truly, a fair and honest man. He wasn't one to go out seeking violence. Since childhood, though, there'd been a dark, untamed streak of slightly meaner stuff he kept stuffed down beneath his generous heart and kind smile. A good man John may be, but no one person could be entirely good. He'd thought this wild side tamed, beaten down under both the burden of Sherlock's loss and his forceful removal from his life in the armed services. He'd assumed that Mary's healing touch and a more mundane form of life and the plan of _children my god_ had flushed the last of the lingering darkness out and away. This new possibility of adventure and mystery and _Sherlock_ though made something inside him roar in primal rage at Mary's taunting words. A sudden upsurge of emotion he never thought to feel again, blood singing in his veins, ready for the war. How dare she, how _dare_ she dismiss him out of hand.

If Mary hadn't stayed frozen, if she hadn't kept a wary yet dispassionate expression on her face, heaven only knows what would have come of John's rage. Her refusal to react, though, to feed his anger, eventually brought him back down. The red tinge that had clouded his vision receded, leaving him feeling small, drained, and entirely horrified. His poor _wife._

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “Sorry.” A deep, sick shame started to well up in him. Rage may have served him well in the past, but this was not a war zone. This was his home, his wife, his dull little life. Of course Mary didn't believe him, he'd barely been able to string two words together to explain himself. Instead he'd raged at her, taking offence where he was sure she meant none. Like some kind of monster. What the hell had gotten into him? This was twice in one day where he'd lost control of himself. Once at the Centre with Sherlock, and now with his own wife. Was it hormones? Was it true that rut turned even the most level headed alpha into a baser brute?

Seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil, Mary sighed, motioning for him to rejoin her on the sofa. He found himself enveloped in her arms once he did, surrounded by her sweet, familiar scent. He breathed her in, finding himself calmed as he listened to her soothing voice.

“Listen,” she said softly, reasonably. “This whole day, I know it was very emotional for you.” She drew back, raising a hand to cup his weathered face. He closed his eyes, revelling in her soft touch. “It's not that I'm saying you're mad,” she said softly, “I'm sorry if I came across that way.”

“It _was_ him, Mary,” he whispered, nuzzling into her palm. “I'm sure it was.”

“You said it... _he_ said your name?” she murmured softly.

“Yes, I heard him,” he said, calmed by her soft touches. “He called me John. No one else there called me John. Only him.”

“And when did he do this?” she said, moving her hand to brush through his fringe, pushing the hair back from his forehead, movements slow and soothing.

“A-after,” John replied, “after we were finished, right before I fell asleep.”

“And no one else heard you?”

“No, no one. It was only us.” He blinked his eyes open, found Mary staring searchingly at him, assessing. Weighing his words.

“I think...” she trailed off, obviously choosing her words with care. “I think the best thing, really, would be to wait. No-” she exclaimed as John drew back, protests ready on his lips, “hear me out John! We can both agree, can't we, that an alpha exposed for the first time to omega pheromones is hardly in their best state of mind, yes?” Grudgingly, John nodded his agreement. “Then the best thing, surely, would be to wait until you go back to the Centre for your next visit. That way, you can inspect the omega more thoroughly, get a more confident ID on whether this is in fact someone you know. That makes sense, doesn't it?” She brought her hand back to his face, gently petting at him, soft blue eyes pleading silently for him to see reason. “It's not as if they're going anywhere in the meantime.”

“Don't be awful,” he snapped, withdrawing slightly. “Of course he's not going anywhere! That building, it's locked down as tight as any prison. If they wanted to keep someone there against their will I'm sure they could.” He fumed as Mary raised her hands in mute surrender.

“Sorry,” she said, “you're right, that didn't come out quite right. But John,” she said earnestly, “my point still stands. Think about what you're saying, what you're thinking of doing. This isn't a light accusation.” 

John bowed his head. Thoughts of what he'd witnessed today, the thought of brilliant, vibrant Sherlock reduced to a breeding mare strapped to a bed, it turned his stomach. “What if it is Sherlock?” he whispered. “What if he's trapped in there?”

“But what if it isn't?” Mary asked quietly. “The Centre is one of the most heavily guarded, secretive institutions our government has, John. If you go in guns blazing, or even start asking too many questions, you'll be risking everything and everyone you hold dear.”

She was right. He hated it, but she was. He tamped down on the inexplicable anger he felt boiling back up towards his wife, because it hardly helped things to rage at her. She was only speaking reason. Even during his brief time there he'd been impressed with how heavily fortified the place was, and those were just the areas he could see. If Sherlock was in fact trapped in there of course he'd try to save him, but Mary was absolutely right that it wasn't a fight to be taken on lightly. Sighing softly, he found himself acquiescing to Mary's logic. She was right. That didn't mean, of course, that he would sit by idly. What had Dr. Adler said? About two weeks before his next appointment? That would give him at least a little time to start reading up on The Centre, get a better idea of what he might be up against. He hated to leave Sherlock in there, but he could hardly save him if he was locked up himself.

“You're right of course,” he said, still not managing to look back in her direction. “Sorry again about the outburst.”

“John,” she said gently, “I can understand you being upset. I'm not saying do nothing, I'm just saying it will be best to wait. Get a more definitive answer.” She reached out again, cupping his face with a soft, small hand and drawing him over gently so he was looking into her earnest blue eyes. “I am on your side, John Watson. Whatever may come, I am still your wife, and I still believe you. In you.”

Flashing her a grateful smile, John drew her into his arms, choosing to ignore the writhing tangle of emotions the day had dredged up. He wasn't sure what was to come in the days ahead, and waiting to act was sure to be a torture, but it did help to know he still had Mary on his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the long wait. Life got crazy for me for a while (what with buying a house and starting at a new physically challenging work site and then getting married and ALL the adult things oh my god!) and it took me a while to get back to this. It didn't help that I had this particular chapter mostly written before I realized I wanted to go a different direction, scrapped it and started it all over again. Bleh. So the good news is that I most certainly won't be that busy again for a long while. The bad news is that I'll probably never be the best at regular updates so this will continue to come out slowly. I do plan to continue, though! So thank you for your patience and all the lovely comments and kudos folks have been leaving! Responding to them for some reason triggers my social anxiety like mad so I may not love you back to your face, but know I'm loving you all like crazy from afar <3
> 
> Now, a warning to any folks out there who absolutely hate the Mary character from BBC Sherlock, this is not going to be a Mary hatefest fic. I'm not saying what her role is going to be (since she's not meant to be a direct approximation of BBC Mary so her storyline will be more different), but I will say that she isn't going to be a straightforward villain. I do know and respect how strongly some of you feel about BBC Mary, and how that may make this particular fic not quite your cup of tea, so I figured I'd give you all fair warning that I'm not intending her to be cast as the ultimate baddy.
> 
> And that's it for me! Thanks for reading, all! I'll try to get through the next few updates in a more timely manner because I'm sure we all want to get to the point where we see more Sherlock up in here. Yes? Yes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Allusions to het sex in the beginning of chapter. Nothing graphic, but if that type of thing makes you run for the hills, I'll be posting a brief summary in my notes at the bottom so you can see what you missed.

Despite the tensions of earlier, or perhaps because of them, husband and wife still found themselves drawn towards each other once they slipped into bed for the evening. Familiarity failed to dampen their enthusiasm for each other, no matter the passing years. Sweet endearments were whispered, flesh worshipped with touch and taste, a clamouring carnality that consumed them until spent.

One issue however, that both had forgotten to take into consideration, was the after effect the day's activities would have. Typically, when an alpha went into rut with an omega, the result was a several day marathon of pheromone driven sex. Due to The Centre's tender ministrations, those activities had been cut short. John's body, however, hadn't seemed to get the memo. Which is how the couple found themselves in the unfamiliar position of being firmly knotted together.

Blinking blankly into each others faces for a brief moment quickly led to giggling from both sides.

“Oh god John, stop it!” Mary gasped, slapping lightly against his shoulder in an attempt to quiet him. “Your, your _thing_ moves when you laugh!”

“My _thing?”_ John wheezed, trying without success to sober up. “What, are we twelve now? Are proper words not something we do?” They both devolved into further giggles, Mary tapping him more adamantly now.

“Stop, _stop!”_ She screeched. “It feels _weird_ John!” Which only prompted a full belly laugh from her husband. She squealed in mock anger, writhing slightly beneath him. The unintentional tugging of her body closed around his knot caused his laughter to stutter out, a low grunt punching from his lips as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Should've tried that first I guess,” she smirked, leaning up to brush a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. “Much more effective than violence it seems.”

“Mmm violence is _never_ the answer,” John murmured lazily.

“Never?” she asked drily, reaching back to lay a playful swat against his backside, pulling yet another grunt from him as his entire cock, knot and all, twitched briefly inside her. She yelped in surprise as John grinned mischievously down at her.

“Well, _never_ may be too strong a word,” he said, playfully rocking a bit on top of her. “Afraid we might be here a moment, love. Seems my _thing_ is having a bit of a lie in.” He shifted slightly, trying to take a bit of his weight off his wife's prone form. “This okay? Anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, I think you've done just fine already, Mister Watson,” she drawled, draping her arms around John and cuddling him back down against her sweat covered skin. “You just stay right where you are.” Sighing contentedly, John burrowed his nose into the crease where neck met shoulder, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent. She hummed softly, fingernails drawing gentle patterns across his back. He could sense the moment her mind began to wander, though, never one to stay unengaged for long. The gentle swirls and soft scratches began to falter, turning into thoughtful taps. Some sort of puzzle travelling from brain to hand, patterns and connections broadcast by more forceful presses. 

“Okay love,” he chuckled, “just tell Dr. John about what's troubling that pretty head of yours.” She responded by slapping his shoulder lightly.

“Cheeky,” she murmured. John just smiled, knowing she'd share with time as her fingers returned to their thoughtful taps.

“It's just,” she began tentatively as John pulled back just enough to see her face, “and please don't be mad, John. It's just, you'd have _noticed_ if he was an Omega. Back then, I mean.”

John could feel himself start to tense, his hazy afterglow falling away at her words. “Not necessarily,” he grumbled, shifting in Mary's arms, already not liking the direction this conversation was heading. _Christ, couldn't she just leave it alone?_

“What do you mean, not...” Mary trailed off, realization blooming in her eyes as John began to frown. “You mean, you two never...”

“Look, it just wasn't an important part of our relationship,” John snapped. “Sherlock didn't, he wasn't _into_ that sort of thing-”

“What do you mean wasn't into it?” she barked incredulously. “John, you're one of the most sexual men I've ever been with. You honestly expect me to believe you threw yourself into the chance to go to the desert to get shot at because your heart got broken by some kind of eunuch?”

“Of fucking course not!” John growled angrily. “There's more to a relationship than just sex, Mary! You know that!”

“Yeah but it's a pretty big fucking part!” she exclaimed in disbelief. “Jesus John you've been pining after him like some shitty romance heroine.”

“Oh my god could you _be_ any more insulting right now?” he grated out, blood pressure steadily rising. Why had he encouraged her to talk? Why not just enjoy the afterglow? “You're a fucking nurse. You know damn well -”

“I'm also fucking married and I know what a relationship looks like John and that-”

_“I fucking loved him!”_ he cried, spittle flying out to land on his wife's thunderous face. “I loved him from the moment I met him and just because I never stuck my cock inside him that doesn't make my love, _our_ love worth any fucking less.” The last of his words were hissed out between clenched teeth. His knot chose that moment to finally deflate, allowing him the opportunity to slide up and out of her, fury helping him ignore the sloppy mess he left behind as he sprang from the bed. Stumbling slightly as he stalked from the room, he marched down to the bathroom, slamming the door closed and locking it behind him. Breathing heavily, he realized his hands were trembling slightly. He covered his eyes with them, fighting to keep his breath inside because god only knew what sort of noises he'd start making if he let even the slightest bit out. A scream. A sob. Once started it may never stop. He held still until he started to feel light headed, lights dancing behind his clenched eyes.

His breath finally bellowed out as a loud, braying laugh. One he continued as he leaned against the wall across from the sink, entire body trembling from a day of so many highs and lows until he finally let himself sink to the floor. John Watson was not a man given to emotional outbursts, but this day seemed a great exception to the norm. All the grief, the rage he'd never let himself express was frothing beneath his skin and, as cathartic as a breakdown would be, he still struggled to slam it all back down. He knew there was a reason for holding on. He knew-

“John?” Mary's tentative voice from beyond the bathroom door. John realized he was still laughing, a high and nearly crazed sounding giggle, as he finally started registering the cold from the floor tiles seeping into his skin. “John, open the door. Please.” Laughter slowly petering out, John just stared at the door, adrenaline falling sharply and leaving him feeling numb and hollowed out. He sat, floaty, as he finally lapsed into silence. Several moments later, he heard a soft scratching followed by a gentle click and the door swung gently open. Mary stood mutely on the other side, gripping a slender screwdriver, wrapped in her ratty pink robe. He'd bought that robe for her years ago, shortly after they'd started dating, a way to combat the draughtiness of the bleak bedsit the army had tossed him into after his discharge. He could tell she'd thrown it on hastily, her hair still stuck to her face in wispy tendrils, held in place with sweat leftover from their lovemaking.

“Always said these handles were cheap crap,” she said softly in the face of his extended silence. John sighed, turning his face away.

“Just leave me alone,” he muttered. “I'll...I'll just sleep on the couch tonight.”

_“John,”_ she whispered, voice pleading. He held up a hand, hoping to keep her from saying anything that would set him off again. He felt the exhaustion of the day closing in on him and weighing him down. The last thing he wanted was to continue with this ugliness. He heard Mary sigh.

“Listen,” she ground out. “Obviously, you and I have...differences of opinions on certain matters.” John snorted, shifting his torso away from her, hoping she'd get the message. “And that's _fine,”_ she continued quickly, “it's all fine John I don't _need_ to understand how you two worked I guess it's not my business really-”

“You're right,” he bit out, “it really isn't.”

“But _John,”_ she pressed on over him, “it _is_ when you going off on some...some _mad chase_ after a kind of dream or fantasy could easily get us in trouble. _Us_ John, not just you.”

“What are you talking about?” He angled back toward her, starting to feel a bit silly and cold sitting naked on the floor with his wife looming over him in the doorway. “It's not the mob we're talking about here Mary, The Centre is a government agency.”

“Exactly, John,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “And how much do you trust your current government? The one you were positive this afternoon was somehow holding your one true love?”

“Well,” John blustered, “well that's different I mean I _saw-”_

“And what if you're right?” she hammered out, anger started to seep through her features once again, fingers digging into the fraying robe cuffs. “What if it _is_ Sherlock and they _have_ taken him? You think you'll be able to get him out? Of a secure government facility without any accomplices?” She squared her body, meeting John's glare dead on as she pointed a finger back at herself. “You think they won't come to me, believe that I knew nothing? You think they'll let _either_ of us go if you're caught? And for what?” she scoffed. “Some unrequited, puppy love? Some fantasy you've built in your head to help counteract your grief?”

John growled, struggling to rise to his feet. “That may be one of the most self centred things I've ever heard someone say,” he spat. “Not everything's about _you_ in this, Mary.”

“Same for you, John!” she cried back. “Same bloody thing for you.” Her obstinate glare continued as John paced over to stand before her, chest heaving and eyes blazing with accusation. “You think you know what you're getting into John Watson but I promise you, you have no idea what they're capable of.”

“And you do?” he whispered, deadly quiet. “A simple nurse from the suburbs?”

She drew her lower lip between her teeth, chewed it pensively for a moment. “I was an army nurse, John,” she replied quietly. “You know that. And I've seen things. As have you, my love.” Her face softened slightly, hands lowering to her side, fingers splaying out in supplication. “Is it so wrong?” she whispered. “Am I so terrible for worrying about our safety? They won't be kind, John, they won't. If they have him, if they've _had_ him all this time, then...is he worth it? Really?” Clear blue eyes searched his face, silently beseeching as they stood a hairsbreadth apart.

“Mary,” he whispered, fighting the urge to look away. “Mary, he... _Sherlock_...he's worth everything.” He closed his eyes as she stiffened and drew back. “I'd do the same for you,” he whispered. “For _both_ of you. I love you both. You're worth _everything_ to me.”

A long beat of silence. Then, “Clearly not, John. Clearly not.” He opened his eyes to see her retreating form. “You'd best sleep on the couch,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “Though clean up first, you know it's hell getting stains out of the furniture.”

“Mary,” he choked out, too tired to feel much beyond sadness.

“You've made your choice, Watson,” she called out as she entered the bedroom again, “you've made your fucking choice.” She paused in the doorway, looking briefly back over her shoulder at her husband. “You can't have us both, John,” she whispered, sadness shining in her eyes as she silently shut the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: John and Mary have an argument over whether John and Sherlock were ever in an actual relationship because the two boys never actually had sex back in the day. John storms off, Mary tells him to pick a side, John chooses team Sherlock. *confetti*
> 
> For the record, I 100% disagree with Mary's line of thinking. But, at least in the states, this seems to be a common way of thinking. That romantic relationships aren't real unless there's some sort of penetration or sex act involved. So it made sense to me that Mary would feel that way, too. Especially with John looking to take on The Man in order to save _his_ man!
> 
> All that being said...
> 
> Hello you lovely people! I know it's been months and _months_ since I posted on this story. Truthfully, I didn't have drive or energy for writing. There were family deaths and crazy overtime at work and it left me feeling like I had nothing left to spare.
> 
> But! I have nothing _but_ time on my hands at the mo. I had a successful surgery last week that I am healing very nicely from already, but I still have roughly a month and a half heal time on my hands. So! I'm anticipating a lot of writing on the horizon.
> 
> I already wrote out the next chapter today, so I'll post that sometime this weekend. My goal is to finish this story by the end of my time off, as it's been rattling around in my brain for well over a year now. I may not be the best writer out there, but I've got a love of storytelling and would love to get this one out into the world for others to see.
> 
> Lastly, _thank you_ every single one of you who's taken the time to leave a comment or kudo on this story. They all mean the world to me, and I'm so glad I can share in the Sherlock love with all of you. I never expected this story to receive the love it has, and am excited to share the rest of it with you! And as always, please let me know if you spot any mistakes. There's only so much my eyes seem to catch when it comes to my own words.


	6. Chapter 6

The following two weeks were strained to say the least. Words said in the heat of anger are an impossible thing to erase, and John and Mary found themselves dancing around each other in steps of tentative avoidance. John wished he could lean on her, look to his wife for support and guidance as he tried to surreptitiously learn what he could about The Centre, both the building and the institution, but Mary showed little interest in engaging with him. Meals were eaten separately and it seemed his residence on the couch was fixing to become a long term arrangement.

Unable to come up with any ideas how to mend the sudden rift between them, John focused instead on coming up with some kind of plan moving forward with freeing Sherlock. As he feared, there seemed to be no information about the government’s breeding program except the standard indoctrination they chose to share with the public. Sifting through the library's public records garnered nothing new, merely text after text repeating near verbatim the history every citizen from childhood up had been taught; The Great War of decades past had been won by their great country, but at great expense to their people. The Enemy had released some sort of ungodly chemical that caused nearly all Omegas to die from a horrific wasting disease, a sickness which threatened to resurge at any given moment. Only through careful, professional care did the Omegas have any hope of surviving on the off chance they were infected. That coupled with the concern the government had over their good citizens being forced into a laborious life of servitude for what was, essentially, a mentally disabled family member, led to the creation of The Centre. There, the country's Omegas could receive the very best of care from specialized Omegologists, only exposed to the public when they came of breeding age. Omegas were summarily removed from all households at birth, leaving the family free to dedicate their time and energies toward the raising of their families and the future of The Nation.

There was no mention, anywhere, of any cases of Omegas born with full mental capabilities. Or of identical twins with different sexes, so the vague twin theory that had started floating around John's head seemed right out. Was it possible that someone out to get Sherlock had subjected him to some sort of bizarre sex change operation? That seemed medically impossible, though. Besides, who was Sherlock to warrant that kind of attention? True, the man had been rude, downright infuriating at times. Not to mention his somewhat morbid fascination with his various experiments involving cadavers but Sherlock? The madcap scientific genius John had found himself housed with his first year at university, involved in some sort of scheme that ended with him being surgically changed into an Omega? No one he'd have come in contact with would have the kind of power or resources to do this, _whatever_ it was to Sherlock that John was trying to unravel. Not as far as he knew at any rate. Not to mention the idea itself was mad, making even less sense than the twin theory. Something, somewhere in this tangle of information was wrong or missing, John just needed to figure out what.

It seemed, at the very least, what John needed was to determine for certain that this was actually Sherlock he was freeing. The more he looked back on it, the more he admitted that he'd been far from at his best when he'd heard Sher...the _Omega,_ say his name. He needed to find a way to confirm his identity.

DNA seemed like the best possible option. Getting some from the Omega seemed easy enough. John could sneak a small pair of nail clippers in with him, cut off a little piece of his hair. What he was lacking was a sample to compare the hair to. He vaguely remembered Sherlock mentioning his family, an annoying older sibling in particular, but searches of public records brought up no living next of kin connected with William Sherlock Scott Holmes, omega or otherwise. His father had apparently died shortly after his birth, and his mother as well shortly before he started university. This knowledge caused John a moment of sadness. Poor Sherlock, all he'd had in the world really _had_ been John. He'd never even mentioned losing his mother. Perhaps he was harbouring some sort of secret depression John wasn't aware of? In the end, running out of time, he decided his best option was to collect the hair and continue his search for a comparison sample in the following weeks.

The thought of whether or not this potentially wild goose chase was worth the future of his marriage didn't even cross his mind. Years of repressed memories were flooding back to him. Moments of shared laughter, amazement at Sherlock's brilliant deductions, soft quiet mornings when his lonely love's usually prickly guard was down and he allowed John to coddle him with murmured affections and gentle pets to his soft, spiralling curls. If he was to be the only keeper of Sherlock's memory then, right about this whole Omega thing or not, at the very least he should make sure that Sherlock was actually resting in peace and not chained to a sterile bed starting families for strangers. Let it not be said that Sherlock Holmes was unloved in this lifetime.

The night before John was set to return to The Centre, Mary's ice front was at an all time high. True, he'd been letting the issue lie, but as he watched her retreating back as she entered their bedroom for the night, he couldn't help reaching out for her.

“Mary,” he called gently, thankful when she paused, head tilted slightly to indicate she was listening. “Supposing this turns out to be... _not_ Sherlock...would you...do you still even want a family with me?” Her silence stretched out between them, seeming to give John his answer. “Should I...do you want me to leave?” he strangled out. “I still love you, Mary. I'd...living with you is...I just...”

“John,” Mary cut in gently, “let's not do anything rash.” She turned back towards him, though she pointedly didn't make any moves to close the distance between them. “I won't lie,” she said softly, “what you said, it hurt me. But...I still love you. That hasn't changed.” She breathed out slowly, eyes glued to the floor. “Just...stay. No moving out. And...we'll see how things go. I know it's not what you wanted to hear,” she whispered as she finally met his eyes, “but it's...the best I've got. Right now.”

“No,” John said with a sad smile, “you're fine. I understand.”

She lingered a moment more, face carefully blank, before turning back to the bedroom. “I hope you find what you're looking for tomorrow,” she said, soft enough he almost missed it, the bedroom door clicking closed on his grateful smile.

* * *

The Centre was just as blank and sterile as he remembered. Berryl, wearing a similar nondescript ensemble to the last time, flicked her eyes up as he entered the room. Recognition sparked dimly in her face as she raised a pair of reading glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck.

“Mr...” she trailed off as she took the moment to perch the glasses on the bridge of her narrow nose, peering down at a sheaf of paperwork on her tidy desk. “Watson?” she finally pinched out, glancing back up at John's face.

“Yes, hello again,” he said with a bland smile. _Yes, I am John Watson. I am helpless and harmless and not at all here to steal an Omega from your facility._

“Early again,” the Beta sniffed.

“Yeah, sorry,” he replied, shuffling his feet.

She huffed, gesturing toward the chairs in the corner. “I'll let you know.”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, already heading toward the waiting area.

A few minutes later saw him heading back toward the door. This time, he did his best to unobtrusively pinpoint where Berryl put her hand when she buzzed him in. Might prove useful in the future to know the exact location of the button.

“Second door on the right this time,” Berryl called after him.

“Thanks!” John yelled back as the door closed behind him. So, different rooms each time. Also a potentially useful thing to know. He walked briskly to his room, eyes scanning its contents thoroughly when he entered. This time he quickly spotted the almost hidden security camera set into one of the ceiling panels. _Damn, that makes things more difficult._ Trying not to show that he'd spotted the device, he quickly disrobes, taking care to keep hidden the small nail clippers he'd retrieved from his trouser pocket. Slipping into his gown, he raised his hand, faking a large yawn, and placed the clippers in his mouth, tucking them between his cheek and gums with his tongue. Hopefully Dr. Adler wouldn't notice the slight pooch there.

To his surprise, it wasn't Dr. Adler who, after several more minutes and a rather timid knock, entered the room to collect him. This new Beta's name badge had HOOPER clearly printed on it with, strangely, no “Dr.” moniker in front of it. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, stray strands sticking out all around her little round face. Brown, doe eyes glanced briefly at John, only to dart away quickly when he flashed her a hesitant smile in greeting, a gentle blush painting slowly over her pale skin.

“M-Mr. Watson?” she stuttered softly.

“I am,” he said hesitantly.

“I-I'm here to,” she choked out, clearly uncomfortable with being in the room with John, darting eyes seeming to fall anywhere but where John was actually standing. “Well, th-the Om...um, you see he, _they,_ um...it's been a little...well...th-they usually aren't _quite_ so-”

“Are you, quite alright... _Miss_ Hooper is it?” Was this woman lost? Who was she, and why was she in his room?

“Oh!” she exclaimed, eyes widening slightly as finally looked up at John. “Yes, yes, _Miss_ um...yes. I'm sorry I'm bullocksing this all up.” John laughed slightly at her mild swearing, finding himself relaxing slightly at her candour. She smiled back at him, seeming to calm a little bit, trying to brush a few of her hair flyaways back behind an ear.

“Sorry,” she said again, extending a hand toward John. “My name's _Miss_ Hooper. Miss Molly Hooper.”

“John,” he replied as he shook her hand, finding for all her timidness her grip was reasonably firm and confidant.

“I know,” she said smiling, “saw your file. Out on the door.” She tipped her head back toward the doorway, self depreciating expression on her face. “I'm your Centre liaison for the day.”

“Oh,” he said, surprised. This woman represented The Centre? She could barely speak. Maybe she was new, just settling in. “I see. No Dr. Adler today, then?” He hoped he didn't sound too relieved at the prospect. Adler was a positive terror.

“Oh no,” Molly said, waving a hand dismissively. “Usually the doctors just handle intakes, make sure there's no medical issues to worry about.”

“Ah,” John replied. “Clean bill of health, then?”

“Yup, you're free and clear!” Molly said with a slightly awkward giggle. John smiled back, glad to be interacting with a seemingly genuine, albeit awkward person after the strange mixture of seeming predation and institutional blandness of his last visit. They stood quietly for a moment, John raising his eyebrows questioningly as the silence stretched. Molly, bit her lip, looking off to the side as she began fidgeting with the ends of her hair.

“H-he...” she finally stammered, “sorry, I know I'm supposed to say _they-”_

“I don't mind,” John interjected. “You can call him...him.”

Molly smiled at him appreciatively. _“He,”_ she said firmly. “He's, really looking forward. To seeing you.”

“Is he?” John asked, a warmth stealing through his chest.

“He is,” Molly replied firmly. “I know we're...it's supposed to be... _official_ and all but...” she peered at John, a certain shrewdness showing through that hadn't been present before. “He's...temperamental, this one, and not always...I've just never seen him so happy. Before.” She glanced away again, blush returning briefly. “Before breeding.”

John blinked, unsure of what to say but hope soaring strong within him at Molly's words.

“And I just,” Molly pressed on, determined to get her point across despite her embarrassment, “I just wanted you to know. Before.” She peered at John, expression suddenly fierce. “Before I ask you what you mean to do with those clippers you're hiding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Molly! I love her character on the show, couldn't resist writing her into my story. Don't mess with her, John, or I'll be very cross!
> 
> Still need to write the next chapter, that will probably happen on Monday. Which means it'll probably be Tuesday when I update again. Thanks again for all your support!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Omegaverse sex ahead, with all the dub-con that implies.

Terror gripped John as felt the colour drain from his face. All his careful planning and he'd neglected to brainstorm a plausible explanation if he got _caught._ He heard himself spluttering, mouth flapping open and closed as he tried to force himself to say something, _anything_ that would keep Molly from having him dragged off then and there. The woman herself merely watched him stoically, arms crossed over her chest as he continued to flounder. Finally she held up a hand, halting his fruitless gibberish.

“Look,” she said coolly, “whatever your plan, I can't imagine it being some sort of, um, plot to harm him. Physically, I mean.” John nodded eagerly, glad for the Beta's understanding. “Well then?” she asked, eyebrows raised. Still mildly panicked, John's eyes twitched toward the security camera, a movement Molly immediately caught.

“Oh,” she said, face crumpling slightly in what might be chagrin, “I-I probably should have mentioned. The camera. It's off now. I turned it off.” John relaxed slightly. “Momentarily,” she amended sternly, pointing a finger toward John's face. He nodded, gulping down air as his adrenaline levels fell.

“Thank you,” he gasped.

“Don't thank me yet,” she said sharply. “I still need to know what you're doing.”

“How'd you know about the clippers anyway?” he asked. Had The Centre added mind reading to its abilities? Molly smiled softly at him, shaking her head slightly.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, John, but you're not really as sneaky as you think you are.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Was really easy to spot.” Another moment of silence stretched between them, John fidgeting nervously with his hands while debating how much to tell Molly.

“I'm not your enemy here,” Molly said softly. “I just need to make sure he's safe. Being with you.”

“I'd never hurt him,” John ground out fiercely. “Never. If you believe nothing else about me, you can believe that.”

“I figured as much,” she replied, “so...? Why try so hard to sneak them in?”

“Why aren't you turning me in?” he asked. “Why _not_ just haul me away?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I...I can? If you want me to-”

“No!” he cried, startling her slightly as he reached out to grasp her hand. “No, he said more quietly, realizing he'd grabbed her and immediately letting her go. “No I need, _need_ to see him.” He stared at her, musing over her actions. She'd turned the camera off so he could speak freely. She seemed to care about Sher- the Om- _him_ and was willing to listen. She was employed by The Centre, though. She'd had to have been vetted by them, approved by them. One of them. It seemed too risky to expose his suspicions, not knowing where her allegiances lay.

“If I tell you,” he finally said, “it might put someone in danger.”

“You mean him,” Molly said bluntly. “ _He'll_ be in danger.” John nodded. “John,” Molly said slowly, “I only disabled the cameras for a short amount of time. We're nearly out. I understand why you don't want to trust me, but, please,” she whispered, “consider what other choices you have.” She reached out, placing her hands softly over John's. “You have to trust me. You haven't got another choice. I promise, I want to help him, too.”

Nodding to himself, John finally acquiesced. “DNA,” he said bluntly. “I was going to clip some of his hair, to get a DNA sample from him.”

“Why?” Molly asked. “Who do you think he is?”

John shook his head. “Sorry I, I'm not comfortable telling you his name but, he was a friend. Maybe.” He looked into Molly's doe eyes, soft with understanding. “A friend of mine I lost. Years ago.”

“And you think this is him.”

“Yes,” John said emphatically. “Yes, I really do.” He paused, peering into Molly's face to see if she could confirm or deny this. She shook her head sadly.

“I know what you want to ask me,” she murmured, “but I can't say. They- none of them are very... _lucid_ when I work with them.”

“Does mean they _are_ lucid sometimes?” John asked quickly, eagerly. Molly frowned at him, lips thinning and eyebrows drawing down.

“You're not the only one with secrets, John,” she said harshly. John looked at his feet, whetted his lips nervously. _Fair enough._ “So you need the DNA to make sure he's who you think he is?”

“Yes,” John nodded. “Exactly.”

“That seems fair,” Molly said, smiling softly. “And if he is?”

“I...haven't quite gotten that far, yet,” John ground out sheepishly. Molly raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hey,” he said defensively, “I don't know if you noticed, but it's not exactly easy getting folks out of The Centre.”

“Oh believe me I know,” Molly said drily. “Probably lots better than you do.” John looked at her suspiciously at that, but she merely shook her head again. “Just don't go to the authorities if you find out you're right,” she said. “Won't find any help there.”

“Hadn't even crossed my mind,” he chuckled. “And honestly, I'm not even sure how much good it'll do me.”

“Why's that?”

“I don't exactly have a sample to compare this to,” he said, pulling away from her and running frustrated fingers through his hair. “There's no family, no old hairbrushes nothing left of him.” He blew out a breath, looking down at his shoes. “I honestly don't know what I'm hoping to accomplish, after all this trouble.”

After a moment of silence, Molly walked forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “Camera's about to come back on,” she said softly. “C'mon, he's eager to see you.” John nodded morosely, feeling a little defeated the more he thought about his plan, falling into step behind the Centre employee. She paused, though, as she reached the door, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Your friend,” she said slowly, “did he die? Violently I mean?”

“Well he threw himself off a building so, yeah, kind of.”

“One of the nice things about police these days,” she said cheerfully as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “They're so thorough with their investigations. Keep all sorts of records about them.” She paused again briefly, glancing at John over her shoulder. “Even all the DNA evidence they collect.” John ground to a dead stop, a grin spreading over his face. “Hurry up, Dr. Watson!” Molly called back to him. “Don't want to be late for you date!”

* * *

Still reeling with giddiness by the time he got into the room, John felt blind sided when the same rich, pheremonal cocktail from before slammed into him, instantly hardening the flesh between his legs. He gasped, reaching out to the nearest wall to steady himself, merely succeeding in saturating his nose and mouth with the smell as he gulped down air. He clenched his fist, eyes snapping to the trembling, bed-bound figure in the middle of the room. The figure seemed well aware of his presence, bucking wildly on the bed while streaming out soft pleading noises, seemingly desperate for John's touch.

Grasping for the last ounce of control his military training had stamped into him, John approached the bed. “Hello love,” he gasped. An uncoordinated burbling was his partner's response, thin shackled arms flailing in John's general direction. John couldn't help but chuckle. “Impatient as always. Some things must never change.”

He finally ran a calloused hand over a pale flank, calming the Omega's thrashing with soft, gentle pets. “I missed you, my love,” he whispered, reaching up with his other hand to push the riotous tangle of dark curls away from the sweat drenched face. He nuzzled into John's cool hand, seeming to breath a sigh of relief as John crouched down beside his head, working to brush more of the hair away from what, his heart sang joyously, were Sherlock's easily recognizable features. Here were his cupids bow lips, panting out quick, humid breaths against his hand. Sharp chiselled cheekbones that seemed even more pronounced, the years having left him harder, sharper than John remembered from their younger years when both were shaking off the last lingering vestiges of puberty. He traced his thumb gently over a tightly closed eyelid, brushing the damp away from long, dark lashes. He cradled Sherlock's face, for surely this was no one else but he, and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against his brow.

“My love,” he choked, “my love.” Sherlock snaked a hand up to press against John's, eyes feebly fluttering open. John smiled sadly, taking in the extreme dilation of the pupils and their seeming inability to focus, though John knelt right in front of him. “My love,” he whispered, moving closer to press his closed lips against Sherlock's panting mouth, smiling as the man smeared uncoordinated kisses against his face in return. “You recognize me then, love?” he breathed gently against Sherlock's face. The bound man messily licked John's nose in response, causing the doctor to laugh. “I'll take that as a yes then,” he said, smiling down at his feverish companion.

The bed was nearly too small for the two of them, clearly designed for its occupant to be mounted from behind only. Undeterred, though, John rose from the floor, gently nudging Sherlock over as far as he could so he could gingerly perch on the edge. He smiled as he moved a gentle hand between Sherlock's shoulder blades down toward his plump posterior, eliciting a seemingly happy moan accompanied by a slight hip wriggle. He continued petting Sherlock, basking in the happiness of being reunited with the man.

His seeming inability to properly communicate troubled John. It seemed as if he understood at least some of what John was saying to him, but was unable to verbalize any responses. Hard to tell if his state was due to head injury or some sort of drugs. Questing fingers ran through Sherlock's sweat drenched hair revealed no obvious evidence of trauma, but it was hard to be sure without the luxury of a more thorough examination, which John could hardly attempt while being filmed. John would only be guessing at this point.

His erection, in the meantime, remained a pulsing, pointed reminder of what his body longed to do to the Omega. Throbbing and nearly painfully hard, it grew more difficult to ignore the longer John sat stroking Sherlock's skin. Sherlock, too, seemed to be suffering, exposure to John's own Alpha pheromones obviously ramping up his heat. His skin had taken on a soft, rosy hue due to the fever, slightly darker across his cheekbones and backside. His writhing was slightly more insistent, body pressing against John's side in conjunction with pleading sounding moans. Feeling further back, John found Sherlock's thighs to be positively drenched with slick, oozing sluggishly down and soaking the thin, cotton sheets below. 

The Omega's undulating hips also brought John's attention to the strange contraption he'd noticed strapped to Sherlock's undercarriage last time. Looking a bit more closely at the metallic sheath, he detected a slight hitching to it. Following the small wires and hoses back to the machines near the bed, he found the hoses actually ran to what looked like a small pump. It was simple to reason out that this suction was what kept the sheath attached to Sherlock. Omega studies were generally reserved for those specializing in Omega medicine, but it was still common knowledge that in olden times, fertilization occurred whilst the Omega pierced a Beta with its sex, collecting her eggs into its fertilization sac to then be fertilized by the Alpha. Rumoured to be painful, Beta/Omega copulation had been neatly sidestepped with the help of scientific intervention and this, obviously, was the contraption they'd come up with to harbour the Beta's eggs for the Omega to take in. The Alpha/Omega side of the equation, though, scientists insisted remain organic, as only sexual congress with an Alpha seemed to abate an Omega's torturous heats.

John ran his fingers along the sheath and found it wasn't actually entirely metallic as he first thought. It consisted of a bulging, rubbery material toward the top, with a lip of sorts around it's opening that, John's questing hand found out, snugged it up against Sherlock's body. John's probing produced nearly violent results, Sherlock's entire body spasming as he let loose a thin wail.

“Shhh,” John soothed, inching toward the end of the bed. “Has this thing got you all worked up, love?” He reached with one hand to run through the flushed, slick cleft of Sherlock's arse, circling careful fingers over his whetted entrance and grinning fiercely as the Omega pushed back into the digits, clearly begging to be penetrated. “Are they working you from both ends?” he whispered, reaching his other hand back toward the device, probing against the gasket again, pulling near gurgling sounds from the tortured, sweat-soaked man. He ran his thumb and forefinger around the rubber, exploring through touch. There was a firmness under the gasket, what seemed to be a bulge, and Sherlock's gasping reaction to John's gentle squeeze confirmed it was the Omega's own swollen flesh John was feeling beneath the sleeve.

“Oooh,” John crooned softly. “Is that _your_ knot my love?” Sherlock answered with a soft whimper, thrusting gently into John's loose grip. This knowledge surprised him, that Omegas, too, used a knot to tie themselves to their Beta partners. Omega sexes were slender, though, thin enough to pierce into the womb opening, so the only thing the bulge of flesh could be was a knot, just like any red-blooded Alpha. “I didn't know you had a knot, too,” John murmured, leaning in to nuzzle against Sherlock's side, laving tongue against skin to take in the salty, musky taste of him. “Mine is so sensitive,” he whispered, worshipping Sherlock's flesh with lips and tongue. “Is yours as sensitive as mine?” He squeezed the sheath again, causing Sherlock to thinly wail as John moaned and smeared his mouth along his trembling flank.

“My love,” he growled, higher brain functions fizzing out as his instincts finally began taking hold. “My lovely love.” John released Sherlock's enshrouded sex, rising from the bed and stumbling hurriedly to slot himself between Sherlock's legs. Aching for contact, he draped himself over the Omega's back, pulling away only long enough to claw at his gown, yanking it over his head, greedy for the feeling of skin-on-skin.

Lowering himself over Sherlock's kneeling form, he dragged his aching cock between Sherlock's cheeks. Sherlock rocked back into him, letting out soft, high pitched whimpers every time John dragged over his opening. John let out a low rumble, his inner Alpha pleased at the receptiveness of his partner. “Yes,” he grated out, “yes, _take_ me, _take_ me.”

A small part of him, the part of John that was still the compassionate, caring doctor, trilled loudly to this baser side about the need for preparing his bed partner. Ensuring he was physically ready for penetration. The Alpha merely growled. He knew his Omega was ready, could sense it by his needy cries, the movement of the slender body beneath him. Rocking his hips gently, it took merely two tries before the head of his cock caught and John found himself sliding deep into Sherlock's waiting body.

Gasping, near blind with pleasure, he pushed his way in, deep, deeper, until his throbbing cock was encased completely. Drawing deep breaths, burying his nose between Sherlock's bony shoulder blades, John forced himself to pause. Sherlock whined beneath him, rotating his hips in a gentle motion. John groaned, grinding into the soft gyrations, clenching his eyes against the dance of flesh on flesh.

“Yes love,” he gasped, “yes. Oh, move for me let me feel you.” Whimpering again, the Omega arched his back, writhing his pelvis in a circular motion, grinding back into John only to gently dance away, then back, a sensuous dance John was incapable of refusing to join. He began to move in counterpoint to his partner, the slap of his skin against Sherlock's arse as they joined increasing in volume and tempo as their pace increased.

Sherlock buried his face in a pillow, crying out softly as John watched his hands clench into the sheets. “Oh,” John gasped. “Yes, let me hear you, love. Let me hear you.” He snaked his hand downward, never losing rhythm, making a loose fist around the sheathed base of Sherlock's sex. Sherlock twitched below him, letting out a guttural yowl and shoved back toward John forcefully, hips moving more frantically, clearly trying to up the pace.

“You like that?” John growled. “Something to squeeze around your knot?” Sherlock practically howled as John clenched his fist slightly around the swollen flesh, body dancing underneath John's heaving chest. “Bet you'd like that,” John panted, “a lovely Beta, wrapped around your cock.” The moan the Alpha got in response spurred him on, encouraged him to start gently squeezing and releasing the Omega's knot, hand acting like a surrogate partner.

“My Mary,” he rumbled, punching his hips forward with a bit more force, “writhing beneath us, _begging_ us to fill her, fill her up with child,” Sherlock moaned, reached up a shackled hand to grab blindly onto John's arm, fingernails digging into his skin. “Squeeze your knot as I fill you with my come,” John gasped, “f-fill you full of...oh...oh _god_ oh _Sherlock!”_

John's vision blacked, head rearing back with a ragged yell as, with a final thrust into Sherlock his knot inflated, electrifying orgasm zinging up his back. His fist, still encircling the Omega's sex, squeezed down hard and the pale, shackled body danced and writhed between the twin sensations of the pressure of John's hand and the pulsing knot in his own ass, a warbling wail spilling out from pink, parted lips as the Omega found his own release as well.

John stayed frozen momentarily, spine arched in overwhelming pleasure, until Sherlock's soft whimpers finally jolted him from his stupefied state. Heaving in a great gasp of air, he nudged the trembling body beneath his further to the side of the bed, ungracefully collapsing on top of him and then rolling them to their sides, cock still twitching as he pulled the Omega's lanky body into the spoon of his own.

Panting, John smiled as his wits returned to him. “Not quite how I planned that to go,” he chuckled breathlessly. “Would be nice to do this sometime when we're not both so worked up.” Sherlock shifted in his embrace, letting out little cooing noises that John interpreted as contentment. “Well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, love” he said, gently kissing a freckled shoulder. He lay basking, soaking in the warmth of his partner until a small, niggling feeling like he was forgetting something started to pick away at his contentedness.

“I'm forgetting something,” he mumbled, drawing in a sharp breath and tensing as an aftershock orgasm pulsed through him. Sherlock squeaked softly, arse clamping down involuntarily around John's knot in response. The two men lay gasping after, John chuckling when Sherlock ground back against him, clearly encouraging him to repeat the action.

“Insatiable,” he said with a fond smile, landing another quick kiss to his companion. “But no, love, there was something else. Something I...oh!” Feeling around with his tongue, John found the forgotten nail clippers still tucked safely between his cheek and gums. He fished it down with his tongue, bringing his hand over his mouth in a fake yawn and then fiddling with them in the warm cavern between their bodies, praying fervently that Molly wouldn't gas him before he completed his task.

“Seems like you're due for a haircut, lovely,” he said, wrestling his other arm from beneath his prone partner so he had both hands free. The Omega made soft, grumbly sounds, clearly unimpressed at being disturbed. John smiled affectionately, running a hand softly through Sherlock's curls. “Hold still, love,” he whispered, then carefully clipped off a small part of a damp ringlet. Tucking both the hair and the clippers tightly into one of his hands, he shoved that fist underneath the pillow, hoping it would remain hidden and undisturbed when they moved the Omega from the room. Mission accomplished, John snuggled back up to his partner, draping an arm over the top of him and breathing in great lungfuls of the humid scent of their sex as the reality of leaving Sherlock again settled over him.

“I'll come back for you, love,” he whispered fiercely. “Next time, I'll find a way to free you. I promise.” He received an uncoordinated yet gentle pat on the hand at his words. The unspoken confirmation of Sherlock's understanding caused John's throat to feel hot and tight, misery at the thought of his love being forced to live in these conditions burning his eyes. Sensing his upset, the Omega clumsily tangled his fingers with John's, followed by a soft, moist smear of lips across John's knuckles.

“Ok, John,” a deep, baritone voice slurred as sleep dragged John Watson down. “S'okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a day later than I'd planned (poor hubby staying home sick on Mon. meant no chance to write that day). Still better than my previous track record, though, so I'm not too fussed about it. Plus this ended up being a slightly longer chapter than usual, with smut to boot. ;)
> 
> Thank you, thank you for all the kudos you've left on the last two chapters! You're all lovely for leaving them. <3


	8. Chapter 8

The elation John felt when he awoke to find Sherlock's hair still clenched in his tight fist was nearly overwhelming. It wasn't an answer to the issue of how to free his beloved, to be sure, but it was a concrete first step. The blinding smile across his face caused Molly to chuckle, shaking her head as she stood by, gown at the ready to cover his nudity.

The feeling of euphoria refused to leave him even in the face of Mary's obvious disappointment when he arrived home. She glanced at him eagerly, a slight hope burning in her eyes, only to turn and leave the room abruptly when she saw the simmering joy that must have been plainly written across his face. The rejection stung, but still couldn't manage to dampen John's excitement at his success.

He rushed to the library after work the next day, anxious to start his search. He'd secured the hair in a sterile sample container, carrying it with him even now to assuage the low level paranoia he felt over letting it out of his sight. It wasn't that he didn't trust his wife to leave it be, but her overwhelming unwillingness to support John in his efforts to free Sherlock left him feeling antsy. So, wherever he went, so did the sample.

An extensive search through the library's database of old news records, some of which were painful for John to read, memories of the awful days after Sherlock's death seeding his mind with a dark melancholy, eventually yielded a useful name. It seemed there had been a specific detective inspector, a Gregory Lestrade, assigned to investigate Sherlock's death. John himself even found he had some vague memories of the man questioning him, as John had been one of the few people to see Sherlock jump. He couldn't remember much aside from a sense of patience as he stumbled through the investigator's questions and a pair of kind, inquisitive brown eyes. He was in such a state of shock at the time, though, that nothing else remained in his memories of the man. Mostly he was just a hazy figure in a dark period John had worked hard to forget.

From all the interviews the Alpha had given to the press, though, a sense of underlying compassion seemed to colour his words. This matched up with John's memories of the man being kind. Perhaps it would make him sympathetic to John's request for the samples. Or at least not overly suspicious.

Having learned from his experience with Molly, John made sure to come up with a reasonable back story for his request. That he'd found an old box of of things he thought might be Sherlock's, and wanted to confirm that was the case before he started a more in depth search for surviving family members. If he was lucky, Lestrade would even remember John. True he'd aged quite a bit in the intervening years, but he was still himself. A bit of brief detective work showed that the man had been promoted, no longer an inspector but a superintendent based in the capital city. This made John a bit nervous about reaching out, a man in such a high position had much closer ties to various government entities. It also meant he was no slouch at his job, not just anyone was able to work their way up the ranks so efficiently. However, he still seemed the best bet for gaining John a positive confirmation of Sherlock's identity so with some trepidation, he nonetheless scheduled an appointment through Lestrade's office to meet with him in two days time.

He continued his vain search for information on The Centre in the meantime, meeting with dead ends at every turn. The building seemed impenetrable. Omega “safety” was a top government priority and only specific, authorized personnel had access to the building, let alone the Omegas themselves. If he had more time, more than the mere two weeks between visits, he may have found a way to infiltrate their ranks. As it stood, though, he was facing too little time and too little information. Even if he could somehow get his hands on a gun, which he hadn't had access to since his army days, and went in blazing, there were automated security systems in place all throughout the building, all designed to quickly and efficiently dispatch anyone who tried to cause trouble. In a way, John was beginning to hope that the test would prove him wrong, that it wasn't Sherlock after all, because freeing him without one or the other of them being killed seemed impossible.

* * *

It took John most of the day to reach Lestrade's office. The capital was quite a ways from where he and Mary lived. He couldn't seem to stop his his leg from bouncing nervously as he sat waiting to be seen, a cup of the most acidic, gag inducing coffee he'd ever had the misfortune of tasting clenched in his hand.

The fact the man's office was actually in the same building as the regular police force did nothing to help calm him, either. Law enforcement officers, Alpha and Beta alike, swirled around him, all bustling about efficiently and John was certain each of them was eyeing him suspiciously as they passed. Did he look guilty of something? Could they tell he was a man with something to hide? Thankfully his thoughts were cut short by a tan skinned, curly haired woman wearing a sleek black law enforcement uniform calling his name.

“John Watson?”

“Yes, I'm here,” he said, rising from his chair to greet her, noting her insignia identifying her as a detective sergeant.

“Sorry for the wait,” the woman said briskly. “Boss's been swamped all morning.”

“Oh, no trouble,” John said, trying his best to appear affable. “Must keep you all on your toes, I imagine, all the crime fighting and whatnot.”

“Yeah,” she replied, looking entirely unimpressed with John. “Something like that.” She gestured toward the hall behind her. “Just head on back, his office is back there. Name's on the door.” With that, she turned and left, clearly eager to be done with John. He shrugged inwardly. Wasn't really her job to coddle him.

Surreptitiously abandoning his coffee on his vacated seat, he made his way down the hall. Lestrade's door was cracked open a bit, and John knocked softly as he entered, finding the man seated behind a large desk nearly hidden behind stacks of paperwork, busily scribbling at some sort of official looking document. The kind, brown eyes from his memory raised to meet his.

“Mr. Watson,” he said genially, rising to his feet and extending his hand out. “You seem to be doing a fair bit better than the last time I saw you.”

“Yes, thank you,” John replied, grasping the Alpha's warm hand and shaking it briefly. “You remember me, then?”

“Of course,” the superintendent said with a polite smile. “Wish I could say it'd been under better circumstances, our meeting. Truly sorry for your loss, Mr. Watson.”

“John, please,” he replied, lowering himself into a chair as Lestrade gestured for him to sit. “And that was all so long ago, sir.”

“Oh just Greg'll do, John,” he said, plopping back into his own seat. “And it has been a bit, but loss of a loved one is still difficult. No matter the time passed.”

“Yeah,” John said absently, “yeah that's true.” He smiled carefully, glad to find Lestrade so friendly. “Actually, I'm glad you remember all that. It's kind of why we're here”

“Ah?” said Greg, eyebrow raising inquisitively. “I figured it might be something to do with that. I'm afraid I can't let you see any of our official reports,” he said apologetically, “as you're not next of kin, but I'm happy to answer what I can.”

“Oh,” John said, “no I, I'm sure you all did the best you could for him. With your investigation, I mean.”

“That's kind of you to say,” Greg said tentatively. “In that case, what can I do for you, John? If you've no questions for me about Mr. Holmes.”

John reached into his pocket, pulling out the hair sample in its sealed container. “I'd like a DNA comparison run, actually. I was hoping you still had samples in your records, from your investigation. I'd like to confirm that this hair is his.”

“We do,” Greg drawled slowly, “but, I have to say. That's a very unusual request.”

“Yeah, I know it must be a bit out of the norm,” John said, smiling in a way he hoped seemed relaxed, “but it's just, I found this hair in a box of old things. I thought it might be his.”

“The hair, or the box?” Greg asked, confused expression painting his face.

“Both,” John said quickly, beginning to doubt the strength of the story he'd concocted. “Erm, both of them. The hair. And the, ah, the box of things.”

“And you want to run the test on the hair because...?”

“Look,” John sighed, feeling out of his depth, his entire story suddenly seeming silly. “I just, I just want to know if this is his. Was his, I mean. I just...I hate not knowing,” he said helplessly, spreading his hands with a defeated look. “I just want to know if this is him.”

Greg sat back in his chair, mulling over John's request. “You still miss him, don't you?” he finally asked gently, sympathy softening his careworn face.

“More than you'll ever know,” John sighed, looking down at his hands.

“Look,” Greg finally said, tone kind, “I know what it's like to lose a loved one. And how attached we can get to memories of them. What seems silly to one person may seem reasonable to the next.”

“Does that mean you'll do the test?” John asked, hope flooding through him. Greg clearly thought he was looking for a memento of Sherlock. If it meant John would get his way and have the test run, he certainly wasn't about to correct him.

“We'll need to get a sample from you as well,” Greg replied, his smile crinkling faint lines around his eyes that somehow managed to make him seem younger despite the evidence of time on skin. “If you handled that much, there might be some cross contamination to take into account.”

“You've no idea how much this means to me,” John exclaimed, rising to his feet to grasp Greg's hand, shaking it heartily. “No idea.”

“I'm sure I don't,” Greg laughed, standing to clap John amicably on the shoulder as they parted. “But if it's important to you, I don't mind having it done.”

“What do I owe you? For the test?” Greg smiled in response.

“One of the few good things to go along with this mountain of paperwork,” he grinned, gesturing down at his cluttered desk. “Folks tend to just do what I say, don't need to muck about with expense reports too often.” He walked toward the door, gesturing for John to follow. “Consider it a public service,” he said cheekily. “Seeing as you're a member of the public. Now come on, I'll walk you down to our lab. Get you all set up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another familiar character! Sorry this chapter is a bit short, but I got to where I stopped and it just felt right to wrap it up there. I'm hoping to get the next one written out today for a weekend post to happen. We'll see if my brain cooperates, it's been easily distracted these past few days.
> 
> On another note, _oh my god you guys thanks for being so generous with your kudos!_ Was so excited to see it pass the 100 mark! As a relatively unknown author, please know your support is deeply appreciated and encourages me to keep writing. You are all lovely and you should feel lovely.
> 
> That being said, I'm going to go blast some Otep, now, and do terrible things to John's feelings. ;) Thanks again, all!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Talk and plans of suicide. If this is something you are sensitive to, please read with caution. If you'd like more info about my plans for this story, please see my notes at the end of the chapter. Thanks!

Time was running out for John Watson. There was less than a week left, now, before his third and final appointment at The Centre. Freeing Sherlock was impossible. John had no leads, no way in and no new ideas. His wife seemed ready to leave him, the one person he'd hoped would support him. It seemed more cruel than anything when Greg called him with the results of the test. There was no one else the sample could have come from. Identity: one William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

John hid in the shower, letting the water run cold as it washed away any evidence of his tears.

* * *

Facing the reality of his situation, John began considering his options. He thought of Sherlock, what he remembered of the man. The Sherlock he knew would never have been willing to live in bondage. He'd sooner be dead than exist in the half life The Centre seemed to provide for its prisoners. For surely that's what Sherlock was, he would never have willingly placed himself in their tender mercies. For a man as independent as Sherlock, it would surely be a fate worse than death.

Which led John to his final solution. Back in his army days, surrounded by death at every turn, there were many soldiers who felt the same convictions about the importance of personal autonomy. Horror stories of the tortures that befell captive men and women swarmed through the ranks and it was common place, really, even with John himself, for every soldier to obtain their own, personal way out if the worst were ever to happen.

The capsules were impervious to saliva. Only by biting into them would the fast-acting toxins be released. John didn't have any anymore, such tools didn't seem necessary for day-to-day survival in civilian life. He remembered well, though, the faint bitterness that covered their smooth surfaces when slipped into his mouth, one that faded eventually the longer you held it.

John hated the thought of employing them. He loved his wife, loved their life together. He also, despite the stretch of time, still loved Sherlock Holmes. Having his beloved die when he'd just gotten him back was beyond cruel to John's tortured mind. The thought, though, of leaving Sherlock to rot in his prison, without offering him a choice, seemed worse. He knew without a doubt he'd never be able to face himself in the mirror again if he abandoned the brilliant man he'd loved for so many years. Offering this option, which hopefully the Omega would be lucid enough to understand, was the closest thing to freedom John had to offer.

He also knew that if Sherlock took this chance, if he used the only out John knew how to provide, that John would have to follow. He was no fool. Mary was exactly right, she would be deemed an accomplice no matter her innocence. The only way to help secure her safety against retribution from The State would be for John to follow Sherlock into death. Only then would his wife remain free. Free from John's sins.

* * *

“Watson!”

John smiled at the familiar man beckoning him towards the bar. He hadn't seen Bill Murray in ages, not since his friend was invalided home a handful of years after John, recovering from being wrung dry from his time of sand, sun and death. John had helped him back then, offering a supportive presence as his fellow soldier fought against the deep depression that he'd remembered all too well from his early days rejoining society. A time he never would have survived without Mary's support. Murray had had no one, no one except for his old brother-in-arms, so John had tried to be there as much as he could. Many long nights were spent talking, helping to bolster his friend until he was better able to fight off the darkness on his own. They'd both eventually drifted apart, what with John's marriage to Mary and the addition of Murray's beloved Janice into his life. The bond the men had formed, though, was still remembered even after all these years. When John had called asking to meet up for drinks, Murray had immediately agreed, telling John he'd meet him at their old watering hole. A small, cosy pub near where Murray used to live.

They embraced warmly, clapping each others backs. “Good to see ya!” Murray said jovially, handing a pint over to John, having already ordered the first round. “Been too long, Watson.”

“Ta, mate,” John said as he gulped down his first mouthful of lager. “Good to see you, too. Seems like Janice's still keeping you in line.”

“Oh she's a gem,” Murray said with a grin, motioning towards an empty table. He hiked his chair closer to John's as they sat so they could hear each other better over the noise of the pub. “Never will understand what she saw in a sod like me.”

“Guess that makes two of us,” John smiled, laughing when Murray playfully punched his arm in response.

“Arsehole,” he snickered. “So what's up, Johnny? Y'know I'm always chuffed to see you, but what's the occasion?” He elbowed his friend, grinning mischievously. “You and the missus have a bit of news for the rest of us? Had a successful courting at The Centre?”

John blanched slightly, setting his glass down abruptly, amber liquid sloshing over onto the table.

“Jesus Johnny,” Murray grimaced, “Sorry, didn't mean to step in it.”

“No,” John sighed, “no, don't worry. You weren't to know.”

The two lapsed into silence for a moment, Murray looking over in concern and John keeping his gaze pointedly fixed on his glass.

“I take it this isn't just a social call, then,” his friend said worriedly.

“I need a favour,” John said eventually. “I hate to ask, but-”

“Johnny,” Murray said earnestly, “whatever it is, you can ask me.” He rested a hand on John's shoulder. “You were there for me during some of the worst shite of my life. If there's something, _anything_ I can do to pay that back even a fraction, then, I'm your man.”

John blew out a breath. “You won't like it,” he said softly.

“It doesn't matter,” his friend replied.

Finally, after some hesitation, “I need some tablets, Murray.”

Murray pulled back, face whitening in shock. “Oh, oh Johnny no-”

“You said anything,” John ground out. “Anything at all.” He glared stubbornly at his friend's shocked face. “I know you're still in contact with some of the old sources. At least you were.”

“It _can't_ possibly be as bad as all that, mate!” Murray cried, distressed. “Lord knows I lost count of how many times I wanted to do the same, but you always talked me out of it, John. Always.”

“It's not just me, Bill,” John said sadly. “Christ if it was, I'd never. Not a chance. But...but my...friend...I just...” he trailed off, burying his face in his hands. “There's no other way, Murray. None.” He faced his friend, gripping the sleeve of his jacket. “I can't tell you,” he said pleadingly, “it's not just me involved and I can't bring anyone else into this. Just...” he tightened his fingers, feeling the fabric of the clothing start to strain. “Please,” he whispered. “Please. I've thought it out. I can't see another way for them. It has to be this way.”

Murray stared, clearly still distraught, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. The buzz of the pub around them faded away as they locked gazes, both pleading with the other without words. Finally, Murray blew out a shaky breath.

“How many you need?” he asked quietly. “I still have some. Three. From when I came back home.”

“Thank you,” John gasped, releasing his sleeve. Murray shook his head.

“Don't thank me for this, John,” he said flatly. “This is...if it wasn't for what you did back then...are you sure, mate?” he asked, eyes searching John's face.

“It's the only way,” John said firmly.

Murray sighed, pushing his glass away and standing. “Come on then,” he said. “Janice is out for the night, some sort of girls night thing, since we figured I'd be tearing it up with you.” John rose to his feet, trailing after his friend. Murray's face was pinched and unhappy as he started walking briskly into the night.

“How far off is your new place?” John asked as he hurried to catch up.

“Bit of a walk,” Murray said absently. “Just feel like I could do with the fresh air. Cabs always feel a bit stuffy when I've got things on my mind.”

* * *

The night before he was to make his final trip to The Centre, John drifted aimlessly through his house. He paused to look at framed pictures, knick knacks, little bits and pieces of the life he and Mary had built together. He'd already penned his goodbye letter, leaving it tucked into the pocket of his winter jacket. He hated to leave it in such an obscure place, but it was essential that Mary not know anything of his plans, lest she try to stop him. Hopefully she'd find it eventually and get some peace of mind from it.

His wife, for her part, was still keeping her distance. Ensconced in their bedroom with a book, she left John free to wander their flat. This allowed John to check and re-check to make sure everything was in order, not that there was much to prepare. The tablets Murray had provided him with were hidden carefully down inside the couch cushions until John headed out in the morning. He reached his hand down, grasping the bottle that held them one last time, feeling both anxious and comforted at the confirmation of their presence.

About midnight, though, nerves frayed, he made his way toward their room. He found Mary still awake, wrapped in their bed with a book in hand, though it seemed she was simply staring blankly at the page.

“Mary,” he called softly from the doorway. Her attention immediately leapt onto him, book lowering onto the bedclothes. “I just...I wanted you to know. How great life's been with you. Our life.”

Mary regarded him stoically. “You're being foolish, John,” she said softly. “Whatever it is you have planned, it will never work.” John merely smiled sadly.

“I know I can't free him, Mary,” he said.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Then what are you going to do?”

John hesitated in the doorway, fidgeting with the leg of his pyjamas. He wanted more than anything to tell her, to share what could be his last evening alive in the arms of the woman he loved. However...however... 

“I love you, Mary,” he finally said quietly, turning away from their bedroom, heading toward the couch to try and get at least a few hours of sleep. Anything that would help him face the coming day, whatever it may bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now folks, I know we're just getting to know each other, but I'm asking you to trust me. I don't want to give much away, because I personally hate for stories to be spoiled, but I promise you this will not turn into a death fic. Hang in there and we'll all pull through this together lovelies.
> 
> Not sure if I'll have any good writing time over the weekend, but I'll do what I can not to leave you all hanging for too long. Thanks again for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a head's up that there's more omegaverse canoodling in this chapter.

John couldn't help but feel it unfair that the morning of his final visit was cheerfully bright. The temperature was still a bit brisk due to the early hour, but it held the promise of a warm and beautiful day. The sun blushed tenderly on the world around him. He glared at The Centre's exterior, usually austere in appearance, now coloured a soft shade of pink by the sunrise. That prison had no business looking so charming as John marched toward his possible death.

He'd already set the tablets in their hiding spot within his mouth, knowing it would be far less noticeable to do it at home. He'd thrown the pill bottle that had held them into the trash, carefully wiping it beforehand in hopes that any conceivable tie to Murray would be erased. He had to keep reminding himself not to fidget with the three capsules with his tongue, poking at them like he would a sore in his mouth, absently rubbing against their smooth texture. The taste had died away already, washed off by saliva and his constant prodding.

His time in the waiting room as mercifully brief, Berryl buzzing him in with her usual vague look of disapproval. Fourth door on the right this time. John paid little attention to the room's security camera as he stripped, not even bothering to angle his body away for modesty's sake. He was fully changed and waiting in the space's single, unpadded, uncomfortable chair when he heard Molly's tentative knock.

“Yeah,” he called out, “I'm decent.” She immediately opened the door, scurrying in and shutting it behind her.

“Okay,” she said, eyes gleaming, “we've got another couple minutes before the camera kicks back on.”

“Yeah?” John said tiredly. “Well, alright then.” Molly peered at him, thrown by his lack of response.

“What's the plan then?” she asked. “It's your final visit, you know.”

“Yes,” he snapped, “thank you, I was aware of that.” She took a step back, brows drawing together in confusion.

“B-but I thought-”

“Well you thought wrong,” John snarled. “Look, thanks. And all. For the encouragement but...I mean you work here. You know just how impossible it would be to get him out.”

“Nothing's impossible,” she sniffed, crossing her arms stubbornly.

“Well then?” he said, arms spread to his sides. “What do you suggest? Are you going to help me free him?” Molly looked away, lips pinched together in misery. “No,” John murmured angrily, “of course not. You're just as useless as the rest of them.”

“Look,” Molly said, growing agitated, “I don't know what happened since last time, but you can't just give up!”

_“Why not!”_ he bellowed as his final nerve snapped, spittle flying violently into Molly's face as his voice rang through the small room. “Why the hell not, Molly! I've searched and I've looked and I've done _everything_ I _humanly could_ to save him and there is _nothing_ that won't leave _me,_ or _him,_ or my _fucking wife dead.”_ He clenched his hands, breathing heavily as his fury at the hopeless situation boiled through him. “There is _nothing_ I can do here. You hear me? _Nothing.”_

The two glared at each other, John's chest heaving still as he struggled to calm down. Molly finally sighed, shooting him a look of deep disappointment he felt down to his bones.

“Well I hope you enjoy your time with him,” she finally ground out. “Because this might just be the last happy moment of his life.” With that, she turned and flounced out of the room, leaving John to trail after her. Inwardly, John despaired, wishing he could confide in her just how right she was.

* * *

The now familiar swirl of Sherlock's pheromones that enveloped him as he entered the room were as intoxicating as ever, but still didn't manage to pierce John's dark mood. His throat tightened in agony as he looked at the sweat covered form trembling on the bed before him, a deep seated helplessness crushing down on him from all corners.

“My love,” he finally whispered as he went to sit on the edge of the bed, “I'm so sorry.” The first of what John suspected were many tears slipped from his eye as he nuzzled his face down to Sherlock's, letting out a shuddering breath as he showered angular cheekbones with soft, breathy kisses.

“I've failed you, Sherlock,” he said softly, cuddling closer to the Omega's huddled form. “I tried love, I really did, but, there wasn't enough time.” He pulled back, finding himself looking into the swirling mix of blues and greens he remembered so vividly as Sherlock gazed at him intently, despite the obvious strain it took for him to concentrate. John smiled sadly, cupping the Omega's face with a gentle hand.

“Hi there, love,” he whispered. Sherlock nuzzled into John's hand, eyes still hazy yet seemingly fond. His plush lips pulled up slightly at the corner, a faint hint of the gentle smile that John used to think of as his, only his, the side of Sherlock no one else got to see.

“John” he breathed out softly, sighing happily as he closed his eyes, clearly basking in the attention. John stifled a sob, leaning over Sherlock's bound form again, tears dripping down to soak his neck.

“Sherlock,” he choked out, wrapping his arms tightly around the slender, pale man. “I'd give anything to set you free. If it was possible, I'd do it. You know I would.” Sherlock moved a shackled hand clumsily, obviously attempting a soothing pat. John smiled softly, warmed slightly at the thought that despite the circumstances, Sherlock was still trying to care for him.

“There is...another option, love,” he whispered into Sherlock's ear. “It's something we used to do. In my army days.” He fished around his mouth with his tongue, pushing one of the capsules behind his pursed lips. Tilting his head carefully, he angled his lips over the Omega's, encouraging Sherlock's lips open with his tongue and pushing the capsule into his mouth. He pulled back as the Omega made a questioning sound, eyes blinking blearily in confusion.

“It's a way out, if you want it,” John whispered. “All you have to do is bite down, it works pretty quickly after that. Too quickly for anyone to stop it.” Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, a jumble of sounds spilling out that John couldn't make heads or tails of. “I have one, too,” he said quietly. “We could both go together, you and I.” He continued petting Sherlock's face, trying to parse the Omega's expression. “Just say the word, we'll go together love.” He smiled, leaning back down to press another gentle kiss to Sherlock's face, this one to the centre of his forehead. “You could finally be free of this place.”

He pulled back and looked searchingly for a response. Sherlock stared at him for long moments, eyes blinking slowly in his blank face. Suddenly, he made a slightly pained sound, shudder moving through his body as his hips suddenly writhed violently.

“What is it?” John asked worriedly, wondering if he was seeing the poison start to take affect. Had Sherlock already bitten into his tablet? The keening whine he got in response, though, clued him in to what was really happening. “Oh my poor love,” he whispered, trailing his hand along Sherlock's shoulder. “I'd almost forgotten about your heat.” He ran gentle hands over the Omega's sensitized skin. “Is it painful for you?” he whispered. Sherlock whined in response, canting his hips upwards as if begging for John's touch. “Do you want me to help you my love?” John asked tenderly. He chuckled as he got an eager wriggle in response, Sherlock's flesh dancing beneath his hands. “Okay love,” he said gently, starting to move towards the end of the bed. “Just let me-”

A hand shot out, gripping the hem of John's gown before he could finish moving away. His eyes shot back towards Sherlock's face, finding the Omega shaking his head wildly. “What is it, love?” he asked in concern. Despite being tethered, Sherlock still managed to find a way to manhandle the Alpha, pulling him back down to the bed and pushing at the grey hospital gown, clearly wanting it gone. Letting out a small groan, he began shuffling over, as much as his restrictions would allow, then tried to manoeuvre onto his side.

“You want it this way, then?” John asked softly, reaching out to help push the sleeve's wires and tubing out of the way as the Omega finally settled. He slid up behind the man, plastering himself to his back, arse practically hanging off the bed. It wasn't the ideal position for penetration, but Sherlock's eager whine made him determined to try. “All right love,” he murmured, “just give me a moment to get comfortable.”

It took some jockeying around for both men, but in the end they found a position that mostly worked. At the very least neither of them was falling off the bed. John's torso remained pressed tightly against Sherlock's back. He grasped the bound man's upper leg under the knee to keep his legs apart, spreading them as much as the tethers allowed. John's own legs were tangled somewhat awkwardly between the Omega's, curled in slightly so that his cock could still slot neatly against Sherlock's ass. Sherlock himself had managed to raise himself onto one of his elbows, having just enough range of movement so he could push his face back towards John's neck, nosing happily into the crook where neck met shoulder.

“Ready, love?” John asked quietly, rubbing the tip of his cock against Sherlock's sopping entrance. Sherlock whined eagerly in response, pushing his hips back, a small gasp trickling past his lips as John's blunt tip caught on his rim and started pushing in.

John let out an appreciative rumble, exulting in the hot squeeze of flesh around him. He tightened his grip on Sherlock's leg, hiking it higher so he could press in just that little bit deeper. Sherlock tightened around him, gasping in pleasure as he pressed back into the Alpha, body greedy for all John could give him.

The position didn't allow for vigorous movement, but it was more than made up for by the intimacy of hearing Sherlock's eager whines gasped close to his ear. The Omega's humid breath dampened John's neck, and he groaned as he worked his hips in slow careful circles, staying deep inside his beloved's body.

“Sherlock,” he groaned, head falling back in pleasure. “Oh god, love, you feel so good inside. So good for me.” Sherlock panted, soft tongue suddenly snaking out to lave tenderly along John's neck, just above where it met his shoulder. John gasped at the slick slide, a tingling feeling zinging down his body and tightening his nipples and the muscles surrounding his pulsing cock as pleasure washed over him warmly. His neck had never been particularly sensitive in the past, but somehow, what Sherlock was doing now was setting him alight, bathing the same patch of skin over and over with saliva, pulling groans from the Alpha's lips.

“G-god!” he stuttered, thrusting a bit faster, feeling a heat start to throb insistently just beneath his skin. “Ohhh Sherlock, god what are you doing to me?” The Omega moaned, gently scraping his teeth along John's sensitized neck, the slightly rougher treatment causing John to see stars.

He gasped, eyes clenched tight as he tried to somehow push his neck closer to Sherlock's mouth. Something different was happening. Something more than the sex they'd shared on his previous visits. He could feel it in his bones. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew he didn't want Sherlock to stop. He needed more, needed something...

“Sherlock,” he pleaded, begging for what he didn't know. “God, Sherlock, _please-”_

“John,” the Omega whispered, voice gentle yet insistent. John sobbed, desperation colouring his cries. He wanted Sherlock, wanted him _inside_ and _around._ It didn't seem to matter to his lust soaked brain that he was already about as close to the man as he could be, something inside was still begging for _more._

_“Please,”_ he begged again, hips shuddering as he continued to work his length slowly into Sherlock. The Omega let out a pleased rumble, scraping his teeth against John's neck once more, causing the man to whimper. He nuzzled at John's jaw, forcing him to tip his head slightly to the side, then deliberately placed his teeth over the patch of skin, applying slightly more pressure than before. 

_“John...”_ he murmured around his mouthful of flesh, _“don't...move.”_ All of a sudden, Sherlock's jaw clamped down, teeth much sharper than seemed possible sinking into John's neck. The Alpha gasped, body tensing in shock, then began screaming as sensation overwhelmed him. He was beyond pleasure, beyond pain, hips frozen and orgasm forgotten as something inside him seemed to click into place, an empty space he never knew he had suddenly filled with _SherlockSherlockSherlock-_

Vaguely John heard what sounded like alarms going off in the background, could dimly see a flurry of commotion around the two of them, but it was like experiencing it from afar. He was grounded by the teeth still buried in his neck, the steadfast presence of Sherlock that seemed to surround him and the gentle crooning sound the Omega was making, filling him with a feeling of calmness in the midst of all the chaos.

Suddenly, violently, he found himself ripped away, feeling the ragged tear of his flesh as Sherlock's teeth were abruptly yanked out. “No!” he screamed, struggling against the hands that now held him. He heard Sherlock roar, the bed shaking as the Omega struggled to get free.

_“Mine!”_ he was bellowing, frenzied eyes fixed on John. _“Mine!”_

John cried out, struggling with every fibre of his being to get back to Sherlock, everything feeling shaky and _wrong_ from their forced separation. It wasn't until the slight pinch to the other side of his neck registered that he realized he was being drugged, whatever chemical in the needle working with incredible efficiency.

He heard Sherlock's cry of fury as the room started to fade from view. His own struggles became more laborious as the drug began to take effect. The whole side of his neck felt cold and slick around the pulsing ache of the bite and it registered dimly that he must be bleeding. The ceiling was the last thing he saw as John finally slipped into unconsciousness, Sherlock's continued snarls of _“Mine!”_ echoing down with him all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So John, remember that time you were all angsty and offered some lame joint-suicide deal to Sherlock? Yeah, he thought that was pretty stupid, too. Biting you is a _much_ better option. ;)
> 
> I know it's traditional in omegaverse stories for the Alpha to be the one that bites the Omega, but that trope didn't really work with how I wanted to tell the story. The Omegas are the ones with the more alien biology, so it made sense (to me) that they should be the ones with the urge to give bonding bites. (I think I also enjoyed the idea of them getting a little bit of their own back. Omegas seem to be written as submissive and passive in a lot of stories I've read and something appealed to me about them being more of an aggressor in my universe. At least in this respect.)
> 
> Lastly, I'm so excited to have finally reached this point! This chapter serves as the end of act one, for anyone who might be curious. Looking forward to moving on to act two!


	11. Chapter 11

Heat. John felt like he was being burnt alive. He couldn't seem to hear the world around him due to the constant buzzing in his ears. Vision, likewise, was blurred. Only vague, fuzzy patches of light seeped into awareness and he tried to reach out for something, anything to use as an anchor. His body was weighed down, an oppressive force pushing against his chest and limbs, paralysing him as he groaned in fear.

He dimly realized he must be running a high fever. He'd been here before, caught in this nightmarish twilight world after the bullet wound in his shoulder that had led to his discharge became infected, the sepsis nearly killing him. The only comfort he'd had, the only thing that could reach through his jumbled fever dreams were Mary's cool, kind hands, her soft voice soothing over him, offering him some piece of reality to hold onto. He wished she was here now. Where was she? Why wasn't she here?

As if summoned by his thoughts, he swore he heard her voice somewhere in the distance. He tried to move towards the familiar sound, eliciting only a slight shudder for his efforts. She sounded upset. Or angry maybe. Only snippets of what she was saying were filtering through.

“...my _husband_ that's...how _dare_ you... _tear this bloody building down brick by...”_

His throat constricted, hands twitching as he tried to find some way to call out to her. He wheezed out a pathetic croak, then gagged as pain laced up his throat. Lights danced around him and he thrashed his head weakly to the side, letting out a silent cry as his movement intensified his pain.

Finally, seconds, perhaps years later, he felt a cool, gentle hand on his forehead, smoothing his soaking fringe off his brow. The comforting, familiar scent of his wife surrounded him and he gasped gratefully, struggling to move closer.

“John,” her voice whispered, cutting through the fog. “Oh my poor John.” Her hands felt like a balm to his burning flesh, stroking along his face and soothing his panic. Something wet and blissfully cool pressed against his chapped lips and he eagerly parted them, practically crying with relief as he sucked in the ice chip his wife was offering him.

He drifted, unable to track the passage of time as Mary continued to feed him the chips, murmuring soft endearments to him, just as she had all those years ago. He felt like weeping tears of gratitude, so thankful to have something to centre him as he floated unmoored from reality.

He felt a tentative press to the side of his neck, one that flared pain through his body. He hissed, eyes pinching shut as she immediately began whispering apologies, running gentle fingers through his hair. He registered that this must somehow be the source of his trauma. He struggled to remember what caused the wound, but his bleary mind was too disjointed to pull together any thoughts that made sense. Vague flashes of Sherlock and something with heat and teeth, nothing he could parse or comprehend in his current state. Mary continued petting him soothingly.

“I'm sorry John,” he finally realized she was murmuring. “I'm sorry.” He made a questioning noise, his throat no longer aching due to the ice chips. He felt her soft lips press against his cheek.

“This is all my fault,” she whispered into his ear. “I've been so selfish, love, and I'm sorry. So. Sorry.” He found himself able to open his eyes, blinking against the blinding light of the room as he struggled to focus enough to see her. He could make out the basic outline of her face, features swimming before him, indistinct.

“Wha-” he croaked, and was immediately shushed, gentle hands running along his fevered flesh.

“It's my fault,” Mary said, voice quiet yet resolved. “But I'll make it up to you, John. You and Sherlock, both. I promise.”

“Sher...” John whispered, voice trailing off as he began to drift back into unconsciousness. He almost remembered now, fleeting hints of a man tied to a bed and strange medical devices, all thoughts that strayed just beyond his reach as he faded back down into darkness.

* * *

When John next awoke, he felt much more himself. As he blinked his eyes open he became immediately aware of Mary, sitting in an uncomfortable chair to the side of his bed, reading absently from a book. The rumpled state of her clothes and the purple smudges below her eyes told him that she'd been there for a while, clearly running on empty yet stubbornly refusing to leave.

“Mary,” he croaked, reaching his hand out towards her, noting the IV running into his arm. Her eyes immediately snapped to his, book tossed aside to the floor as she rose hurriedly to stand by his bed.

“Hello, love,” she said, smiling gently as she grasped his hand, squeezing it affectionately. “Good to see you awake.”

“Where?” he tried to ask, but immediately began coughing, throat feeling dry and scratchy. Mary reached over to a small, mobile table off to the side of the bed, grabbed a plastic cup with a straw sticking out of it and raised it to John's lips. He smiled his thanks as he took several small sips, grateful for the cooling liquid.

“Better now?” she asked gently as she lowered the cup. John nodded, watching idly as she set it back down on the table. “You're in hospital,” she said, “obviously.” John nodded again, looking around to take in the sterile, white room surrounding him. A second bed sat empty next to his, the curtain hanging from the ceiling used to partition off that section of the room pulled back to the wall, leaving it exposed. No private room for him, then. Lucky break that he didn't have a neighbour to deal with.

Mary's eyes followed his. “Yeah I managed a quick kip here and there on it while you were feverish,” she said with a smile. “Useful, that.” She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling John's hand between hers, palms slightly sweaty. “Do you remember what happened, John?”

He thought back, trying to recall. “The...Centre,” he said slowly. “I was...it was the...Sherlock!” His eyes shot up to Mary's, shock painting his face as his free hand flew up to his neck. A thick bandage covered the affected area, held in place with tape. “Sherlock bit me!”

“He did,” Mary nodded. “It caused some kind of reaction in you, apparently. Gave you a high fever, though they couldn't find any evidence of infection.” She patted John's hand absently. “Any idea why he'd attack you like that?”

“Not sure it was an attack,” John said thoughtfully. “I kind of remember...that I _wanted_ him to do it. Like it was supposed to happen Not sure why. A bunch of Centre employees came in and separated us when it happened. Probably why it looks as bad as it does,” he said, gesturing at the bandage. “They pulled us apart before he'd had a chance to let go properly. Likely tore the shit out of my neck.” Mary merely nodded, staring at the wall as she ran her fingers gently over the knuckles of John's hand.

“They called me,” she said softly, “right after I'd found the pill bottle in the trash.” John felt his insides run cold, memory of his plan flooding back to him. “I was so scared,” she whispered. “So scared that you'd...” her hands trembled, clammy as they gripped his and she sniffed violently, eyes shiny as she turned back toward John. “I was _so. Mad_ at you, John.”

“Was?” he asked quietly.

She sniffed again, releasing John's hand to swipe roughly at her eyes. “Well it's not like you had any options, was it?” she said angrily. “Not as far as you knew, anyway.”

“Mary,” he said gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“The thing is,” she said, flinching away. She drew in a deep breath, holding it in a moment before slowly releasing it. “The thing is,” she continued softly, “I wasn't always a nurse.”

“What...do you mean?” John asked slowly, a strange creeping sensation stealing through him.

“I wasn't always a nurse,” she said grimly, folding her hands in her lap as she stared down at John. “I've done things, John. Terrible things. That I'm not sure you'd forgive me for if you knew about them.”

“That's not possible,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oh you say that,” she scoffed, “but you don't know me from before. It's why I hid it, I didn't want you to know.” Her eyes pleaded with him softly. “I didn't want to lose you.”

“I don't...” he said, unsure of what to feel at his wife's sudden confession. What did this have to do with him? Or Sherlock?

“I still have contacts,” she barrelled on. “People. Who might be able to help you with Sherlock.”

“What?” John gasped, head starting to reel.

“I've already reached out to them, had them start putting their feelers out. They seemed to think there might be a way.” John gaped, staring at the woman he'd thought he knew so well. It was like a stranger had suddenly slipped into his wife's skin, familiar yet alien at the same time. Mary sighed, reaching down to grab John's limp hand where it rested on the bed.

“Look,” she said, “like I said, I didn't want to lose you. That's why I didn't help you before. Just...” she pressed her lips to his knuckles, then rose from the bed, back to John. “Just trust me now. With this. I'll make things right.”

“Why now?” John gasped. “Why...after all this time?” He could see her shoulders quiver slightly, hunched and miserable under John's scrutiny.

“Because I love you,” she whispered. “And I'm done being afraid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm Mary, what could you have possibly done?
> 
> It's been interesting for me to see how polarized the fandom is on Sherlock the show's version of Mary Morston. For the record, although I am pretty obviously borrowing some things from them, I'm not intending her to be a carbon copy of what they came up with. I felt like I should mention that since so many folks have _strong_ opinions on the show. Don't get me wrong, I'm not insisting you'll end up loving this Mary, but you definitely won't be seeing her shoot Sherlock in Magnussen's office in this universe. :)
> 
> Thank you once again for all the lovely kudos and comments! I may not reply to each comment if I feel like responding will spoil upcoming plot points, but know that I love that you took the time to say something. You are all the best!


	12. Chapter 12

The doctors insisted that John stay overnight at the hospital, wanting to make sure that his mystery fever wasn't going to return. Mary left after her confession, telling John she'd return when it came time to be discharged. This gave John time to mull things over in his head, both what Mary had said and what had sent him to the hospital in the first place.

He was still in shock over what she'd revealed. He oscillated between giddiness over the prospect of finally having help to free Sherlock and fury that she'd refused to help him sooner. How could she have ignored how important Sherlock was to John? If she'd had these connections all along, why had she been so insistent that there was nothing to be done? Maybe these people were dangerous. Was that why she was afraid? What the hell had she done for a living? She'd been working at an army facility when she'd met John, maybe her connections were military. 

Or maybe it was a completely different fear. Was she afraid John would abandon her to run off with Sherlock once he was freed? More importantly, would he? He wasn't sure how that would work, potentially having to choose between his wife and Sherlock. He loved them both. Or at least, he thought he still loved Mary. Did he love her? This new woman of mystery? She'd said John wouldn't love her any more if he knew what she'd done. Her love for John, though, the tenderness she'd expressed for him through good times and bad, he couldn't imagine all of that having been a lie as well. All these questions, all without answers. He expected they'd have a lot to talk about in the coming days.

Then there was Sherlock's “attack.” His neck still ached dully from the bite, although the doctors expressed surprise over how quickly it seemed to be healing. It would leave John with an obvious scar at any rate. Yet another permanent mark on his skin. He'd never read about any such attacks during his research on The Centre, so either the attack was unique or The Centre was careful to cover up such incidents from the general public.

His memory was a little hazy, as he'd been under the influence of Sherlock's heat pheromones at the time, but he remembered how tender Sherlock had been leading up to the bite. How he'd obviously been aware of what he was doing, warning John not to move before clamping down. John had read of animals laying claiming bites during mating, maybe this was something similar. Something The Centre didn't want people to know about. What John remembered most about it was how right it had felt, like he'd never been closer to Sherlock than in that moment. He'd felt safe. Cherished. Loved.

John wondered if there would be any repercussions for the Omega for the attack or if he'd be put right back to work. Now that his time with John was over, surely he'd be scheduled to service another couple. The very idea made his blood boil. The thought of Sherlock being with any Alpha other than him felt unfathomable. He hadn't expected he and Sherlock to have this second chance. The tablets were supposed to be the end of it. It struck him, suddenly, that no one aside from Mary had made mention of them. They hadn't been in his mouth when he'd woken. Was it possible they'd just fallen out and no one had noticed them? If so, he was more than a little lucky. The thought remained a slight worry tucked into the back corner of his mind.

All these thoughts swirled through John's head, circling continuously throughout the long, sleepless night.

* * *

Mary must have spent an equally restless night, exhaustion stamped across her face when she came to collect John. She seemed determined, though, to simply push through it, marching through the hospital like a woman on a mission as John trailed behind her.

“Home first,” she said briskly, pressing the button to call the lift, “get you cleaned up. Then we've got a meeting with a representative from The Centre.”

“We do?” he asked, catching up with her as the lift pinged onto their floor.

She nodded, lips pinched thin as she entered the tiny space. “We've got to negotiate another session for you. Easiest way for us to get into the building.”

“Us?” John asked, feeling lost. “Mind taking a second to catch me up here?”

Mary sighed as the doors slid shut, glancing at John tiredly. “I need you to trust me with this John.”

“Who said anything about not trusting you?” he asked, starting to feel annoyed. “I just want to know what's going on.”

“The less you know the better,” she said as they reached the lobby, exiting the lift as soon as the doors opened. John froze for a moment in shock, then hurried out before the doors could close in his face.

“Now hang on a second,” he said angrily as he followed Mary out of the building. He jogged to catch up with her, laying a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face him, forcing them to stop in the middle of the walkway.

“Listen,” he said, “don't think for a second I don't appreciate what you're doing, but you can't just leave me in the dark here.”

“John,” she said gently, “it's for your own protection. If things end up going pear-shaped, your ignorance could protect you.”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “No, we've tried this keeping things from each other already. Hasn't worked that well so far.” He squared his shoulders, pulling himself to his full height. “I'm in this with you, Mary. You're putting your neck out there for me, the least I can do is stand with you.” He reached down, taking her hand in his. “I want to know,” he said softly. “Let me help you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, squeezing his hand briefly before letting it go. “Come on,” she said. “Let's get you home. I'll explain things once we're there.”

* * *

Feeling refreshed after a long shower and changing into a clean set of clothes, John joined Mary at their kitchen table. A cup of tea was waiting for him which he gratefully took in hand as he settled in the chair across from hers.

“My contacts indicated they have some kind of in with The Centre,” she said, getting directly down to business. “They said they could free Sherlock on their own, but I assumed you'd want to accompany him to assure his safety.”

“You're damn right about that,” he said gravely.

“Right,” she said with a nod, “then the easiest way to assure that is for you to be with him in The Centre when he's extracted. That way they can get both of you to safety at the same time.”

“And you think we'll be able to get another visit?” he asked, gulping down another mouthful of tea.

“Your last visit was cut short,” she said simply. “Not to mention the attack. I know,” she said when she saw John beginning to object, “you don't think it was, but they don't need to know that.” She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Anything that will give us an advantage.”

“Yeah,” he said, “makes sense. What about you, though?”

“What about me?” she asked, pale eyebrow rising questioningly.

“Well are you going to come with us?”

“I...wasn't sure if I'd be welcome,” she said quietly, looking down at the table.

“Mary,” he said softly, setting his mug down and clasping his hands. “What do you want to do?”

She paused for a long moment. “I don't want to lose you,” she finally whispered, blinking rapidly in an obvious attempt to fight off tears.

“Then come with us,” John said, reaching his hand across the table, leaving it palm up in invitation.

“I've done terrible things, John,” she whispered, looking down at his hand.

“So you said,” he said gently. “But you've also done wonderful things.” He smiled at her, wiggling his fingers slightly. “You saved me,” he said earnestly. “Back when I thought I had nothing to live for, you brought me back to life. I'll always be grateful for that.” She finally reached out, grasping his hand tightly with her own.

“What about Sherlock, though?” she whispered, eyes fixed on their joined hands, still refusing to meet John's eyes.

“I'm not sure,” John admitted. “Lot of unknowns. But,” he said, squeezing her hand, “we'll never know if you aren't there.” His smile fell slightly as he peered at her earnestly, wishing he could read what lay behind her stoic face. “I admit, I'm still confused. And a little bit angry. But you're still my wife, Mary. That still hasn't changed. Maybe it's selfish of me, but...if you want to be there, then I want you there, too.”

Mary finally raised her head, peering into John's face with an unreadable expression. She sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I'm with you.”

“Great,” John said, smiling. “So where does this leave us?”

“I can't go with you to The Centre,” she said firmly. “Too suspicious. We'll have to meet somewhere.”

“All right,” John said, “where will we be going?”

“They said they'd set us up a safe house,” she said. “Somewhere we can lay low until we can arrange transport out of the country.”

“Leave the country?” John asked, drawing back feeling slightly dismayed.

“Of course,” she said. “There's nowhere we'd be safe here with a stolen Omega.”

This was a possibility John hadn't considered. What Mary said made sense, but he loved his country. He had a hard time picturing himself settling down anywhere else.

“Just make sure it's some place with tea,” he finally muttered.

“John everywhere has tea,” she said with a laugh.

 _“Good_ tea,” he said stubbornly.

“All right,” she said, patting his hand gently, “I'll make sure they do thorough tea research for us.” He nodded, feeling slightly deflated. “Look,” she said kindly, picking up on his mood change, “let's just take one thing at a time. We've got to head out soon if we're to make that meeting, let's just concentrate on that.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, rising from the table, “all right. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll fully admit, I don't understand the whole tea thing. I'm from Seattle and we're pretty obsessed with coffee. (Like seriously, there was a period of time where I had a seven cup a day habit it's a problem. Coffee is like comfort and love to me.) I understand tea is important to a lot of people, though. People like John. So I try and put aside my prejudices and leave room in my writing for all you tea drinkers. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading everybody!


	13. Chapter 13

Meeting with the caseworker for The Centre meant entering another area of the imposing building. John assumed it was where the doctor's individual offices were, where they could complete the no doubt monstrous amount of paperwork that went along with a government job. Their meeting was with the building administrator, a Dr. C. Smith. His office proved larger than the other ones John had glanced into as they'd manoeuvred their way back through the winding corridors that led to his workspace.

He was a dour, round sort of man, middle age starting to pull at his short, thick neck in a way that promised jowls in the coming years. Not even a hint of a smile cracked his doughy features as he motioned for John and Mary to sit in the two chairs before his desk. Light shined off his smooth scalp, what hair he did still have straggling down around his face in a mess, hardly the appearance one would expect from a man in his position. He peered briefly over a thick pair of glasses with a scowl, eyes shadowed by impressively bushy eyebrows, salt and pepper hairs swirling out every which way like quills or spines.

“Don't know why you bothered to come here,” he snapped, focused mostly on his desk where he was scribbling away busily on some sort of official looking document. “I know for a fact my secretary told you there was nothing more we can do for you.”

“Well it's our prerogative how we choose to spend our time, Dr. Smith,” Mary said in a honeyed tone, reaching out to touch John's knee, asking him silently to let her take the lead. “Besides, I think we have _much_ to discuss.”

“You've already received your three standard visits,” he said dismissively, gracing Mary with a brief glare before returning his full attention to his paperwork. “It's hardly our fault that Mr. Watson refused to follow protocol.”

“Now wait a minute-” John started, but fell silent as Mary dug her nails into his leg, silencing him quickly.

“Now, now dear,” she said, turning to John with a simpering expression. “Dr. Smith has been generous enough to give us some of his time, the least we can do is be civil with the man.” She smiled at the doctor, but with a coldness that seemed to make her seem just a bit alien to John. “Tell me Dr. Smith,” she said brightly, leaning forward and placing a palm on the Alpha's desk, fingertips just brushing his paper. He startled, glaring up at Mary as her smile stretched thinner, sharper. “What protocol is it you are accusing my husband of breaking? Hmm?”

“H-he-” Dr. Smith blustered, pulling his paperwork back out of her reach. “The Omegas are very _specifically_ arranged in those rooms. Mr. Watson was told this during his intake.” He turned his head toward John, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. “He took it upon himself to _rearrange_ subject 221B into a position that posed a danger not only to the subject, but himself as well.” He shifted his papers around on his desk as Mary continued to smile at him in an unsettling way. “He only has himself to blame.”

“I would hate to think, Dr. Smith, that you are attempting to put the blame on my poor husband for the ruthless attack he endured,” Mary said, eyes fixed and bright as she leaned forward even further, deliberately placing a palm down onto Smith's stack of papers. “My husband who, the hospital will attest, ran such a high fever from _your_ Omega's unprovoked attack, that they feared he would suffer permanent damage.” She paused, taking in his mulish stare. “Is the public aware how dangerous Omega breeding is, Dr. Smith? Because _we_ surely didn't. John,” she said, tilting her head towards her husband, “do you remember being instructed not to move the Omega?”

“Of course not,” John scoffed, “or I never would have done it.” He crossed his arms, hoping Smith wouldn't see through his lie. He wouldn't change a thing about his time with Sherlock.

“It is inconsequential what Mr. Watson remembers or not,” Smith huffed, “you both signed contracts stating that you both agreed to abide by The Centre's regulations. That we are in no way liable for damages caused by failure to abide by our rules.”

“It didn't say anything about not moving him,” John bit out.

 _“Him?”_ Smith scoffed.

“You know what I mean,” John growled dangerously.

“So you're saying you have no intention of helping us, Dr. Smith,” Mary said, raising her voice slightly to drown out the beginning pissing match between the two Alphas.

“Of course not,” Smith said with a sniff. “Now kindly remove yourselves from my office.”

John felt himself deflating. First job he had and he'd already failed miserably. He made to stand up before he noticed that Mary was still sitting, placid smile painting her face, legs crossed daintily over each other, hands clasped together in her lap. As if she had all the time in the world He settled back down into his chair, following his wife's lead.

Smith finally realized they weren't moving. “I believe I told you to leave,” he snarled.

“Culverton Smith,” Mary drawled, “such an interesting name.” She grinned at the blank stare she received in response. “Not something you hear very often these days. I must say, it made it much simpler to read up on you.” She smirked. “So much easier to track.”

“Are you threatening me, Mrs. Watson?” he snarled, face flushed, fleshy cheeks trembling with anger.

“Now why would me wanting to learn more about you seem like a threat?” she asked smoothly. “I'm merely remarking on the fact you've had a very interesting career, Dr. Smith.” Mary reached down to where she'd set her purse next to her chair. “Such promise at such a young age,” she exclaimed, extracting a folder that she quickly flipped open, casually thumbing through the pages it contained. “For instance, John, did you know Dr. Smith started his career researching treatments for rare diseases?”

“Erm,” John said, glancing questioningly at his wife, “no I, ah, wasn't aware of that.”

“Mmm...” Mary said thoughtfully. “It's impressive. He was something of an expert, really.” She smiled up at Smith benignly, seemingly unphased by his thunderous expression.

“I hardly see what you hope to accomplish with all this,” the Alpha finally growled.

“Must have been difficult finding test groups, what with the rarity of some of these illnesses. Not something you see every day. Which is why I find it _especially_ interesting, John,” she said, tapping her finger thoughtfully at one of the folder's pages, “that there were _several_ outbreaks of rather rare diseases at the facilities Dr. Smith has worked at over the years.” She looked up at Smith, smirking as she noticed the vein starting to protrude on his purpling forehead. “O'nyong'nyong at St. Patrick's, Mollaret Meningitis in a hospital down south...looks like several people died of HPS at the last one.” She slowly lifted her eyes from the folder, eyes gleaming. “Strange...wouldn't you agree, Dr. Smith? Most fortuitous that you were there to help treat these outbreaks.”

She smiled toothily as swallowed, a slight sheen of sweat forming on his brow. “That is...quite a coincidence,” he finally wheezed.

“It certainly is,” she murmured, snapping the folder shut. “Also quite the coincidence that you requested to be transferred to new hospitals after every outbreak as well.” She watched for several long moments as he fidgeted with his papers, sweat starting to seep just slightly through his shirt. “And now,” she said quietly, “here you are. Head administrator of a facility that specializes in Omegas. John, do you happen to recall how many Omegas died from the Great Sickness?”

“Millions,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Mary said. “Nearly killed them all, didn't it?” John nodded, watching as Smith ran a hand over his brow, wiping the moisture he removed on his pant leg. “An administrator of a facility like this, why, he'd have practically complete autonomy over any Omegas in his care. A near perfect test group, if that was what they were looking for.” She leaned forward again, folding her arms on the desk. “Isn't that right? Dr. Smith?”

“Look,” he gasped, “I haven't touched them I _never-”_

“But you could,” Mary said bluntly. “Easily. Just because you haven't done it _yet-”_

“What is it you want?” Smith whimpered.

“You know exactly what we want,” Mary snapped. “You schedule us another visit with subject 221B. We want our full amount.”

“But 221B's been quarantined, it's impossible to put him back into service,” Smith whined, his weakness prompting a sneer from Mary.

“You're the fucking administrator,” she snarled. “For now, at least. You give us what we want, or I promise everyone will know exactly what I know.”

“Wouldn't you rather have another Omega?” he wheedled. “After all, this one did attack your husband.” Mary smiled coolly in response.

“I suppose we're romantics,” she said, leaning back and linking a hand with John's. “My husband and I. We simply can't stand the thought of all our children not being fully related. Wouldn't seem right somehow.” She smirked again, her sharp expression prompting a slight cower from the man in front of them. “Well John,” she said breezily, “seems like the director will be busy for a while! We should probably leave him to his work.” John shuffled clumsily to his feet, reeling slightly at the shock of what he'd just watched his wife do. They turned to leave the office, Mary pausing briefly in the doorway to address the wide-eyed Smith whose mouth was gaping open like a fish's.

“One week, Culverton,” she warned. “You have one week to give me what I want. Otherwise...” she grinned, letting all her unsaid words hang between them, a parting threat for the sad excuse of a person they left behind to all his paperwork and plans.

* * *

It wasn't until they were well outside The Centre's walls that John finally spoke.

“Are all those Omegas really in danger, then?” he asked, gripping Mary's sleeve worriedly.

“If they were, then he'll think twice about trying anything now,” she replied simply, smiling her real, or what John thought of as her real, smile as she gently patted John's hand.

“How could a doctor like that end up working for The Centre anyways?” he asked, indignation at the thought of the monster using the Omega's like nothing more than guinea pigs flooding him with anger.

“I'm not sure it was an accident,” Mary mused. “I always thought there was something strange about The Centre, but this seems more than a little careless.” She shook her head. “No matter, we have our additional visit now. Soon we'll have things sorted.”

“It just seems wrong to leave the rest of them at his mercy,” John said sadly.

Mary glanced at him sympathetically, patting his hand again before turning to keep walking, forcing John to release her sleeve. “Pick your battles, Watson,” she said firmly, marching forward purposefully. John spared a moment to glance back at The Centre's towering exterior one last time before turning to hurry after his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got the idea to throw in a slight nod to the canonical stories in this chapter :) Unfortunately for me, unlike Doyle's time everyone these days has Google and can check to see if the diseases I listed were real. (Spoiler: His weren't.) Which means the government is probably wondering why the heck I was looking up a bunch of infectious diseases. Oops.
> 
> Not sure how many updates I'll manage this week. I'm leaning towards the idea of writing more and editing/posting less over the next two weeks since I'll likely be back to work after that. (Much easier for me to edit than write while working 40-50 hours a week.) So apologies in advance for the potential radio silence. If it ends up going down that way, please know it's for a good cause! I really, really want to finish writing this story for you all.
> 
> As always, I am deeply grateful for the love you're giving this story. Your comments and kudos are so lovely to receive. Thank you, thank you all! I hope you continue to enjoy!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for het sex in this chapter. If that's not your cup of tea, you might want to skip the ending.

As the week progressed, John found himself with more questions than answers when it came to his wife. When asked how she'd come to find the information on Smith, her answers were evasive, feeding him the same line about reaching out to old contacts. She was even more evasive when asked about who, exactly, those contacts were.

“Old associates of mine, John. I've told you,” she said testily, sorting through her closet. An overnight bag sat on their bed, a stack of clothing next to it. Both of them had begun the process of narrowing down just which items they intended to bring with them. It was no easy task, picking and choosing which parts of their life together made the cut. Especially if they never intended to return.

“Yeah, I know you've said,” John huffed from where he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, “but that doesn't tell me anything about who they are.”

“Why is it so important for you to know?” she snapped, holding up two blouses, one red, one covered with a lovely pattern of tiny blue flowers, clearly trying to decide between them. “Isn't it enough that you're finally getting the help you wanted?”

“Not when they're obviously dangerous,” he ground out, eyes narrowing at his wife.

“Why would you think they're dangerous?” she asked flippantly, acting as if the dilemma of which shirt to choose held her whole attention when clearly she was trying to avoid looking at John.

“Will you forget those fucking shirts for a second and look at me?” he snapped, striding over and yanking the clothing from her hands, tossing them onto the bed and earning himself a glare. “Look,” he said more calmly, taking in her now defensive posture, arms crossed and hip cocked to the side. “I may not be as smart as you, but I'm not stupid. If your 'contacts' weren't dangerous, you'd have no problem telling me who they are.” Mary glowered in response, refusing to answer. “I thought we were in this together,” he said softly.

“And we are,” she retorted, “but that doesn't mean you need to know everything.”

“Dammit Mary I just want to know what the hell to expect!” he snarled, reaching over to knock her bag to the floor, channelling his frustration away from her.

“And you do!” she cried. “All that parts that matter anyway!”

“And who are you to judge what matters and what doesn't, hmm?” he snapped. A pained expression slipped momentarily through her stony mask, giving him pause. “Mary,” he said gently, “why won't you tell me?”

“I can't,” she finally murmured weakly. “It's...I told you, my past is...” she pressed her lips together in a thin line, struggling not to let her emotions show. “I need you to trust me,” she whispered finally.

“I trust you,” he said automatically, stepping forward to fold her into his arms. She went willingly, tucking herself tightly against John's firm chest, tipping her head down slightly so that John could rest his chin on the top of her blond head. She was breathing shakily, more than a little upset and John despaired once again at having put her in this position.

“I love you,” he said softly, rubbing her back in gentle soothing circles. A small sob escaped her, and she burrowed more tightly against him.

“Please, John,” she begged, “please don't push for more. Please trust me, let me do this for you.”

“It's a lot to ask,” he said, running his fingers through the short, fine strands of her hair as he cradled her gently.

“I know,” she whispered, “but there's a lot I'm willing to do for you.” She pulled back, face dry though her eyes seemed more shiny than usual. “I love you John Watson,” she said earnestly, “but there's only so much I can tell you if you want my help.”

John sighed, hands resting gently on her tapered waist. “Just tell me this,” he sighed, “what do we owe these people, in return for their help?” She bit her lip, face anxious as John waited for her to respond. “No one does anything for free, Mary,” he said firmly, “especially something as dangerous as this. Neither of us is rich...as far as I know anyway?” She shook her head. “Then why are they helping us? Are we in any danger?”

“No,” she answered, almost too quickly. “We're not.” He paused, considering her words.

“Are _you_ in any danger, Mary?” he whispered, reaching out to cup her cheek. She cuddled into his hand, petting absently at his chest.

“Let me do this for you, John,” she said softly. “I promise, when Sherlock is safe, I'll explain everything, and you can do what you like after that.” She stared earnestly into his eyes. “Trust me,” she said again. John sighed, then nodded, knowing he'd learn nothing else about the matter and having little choice.

* * *

They made love the night before John's return to The Centre. It wasn't spoken, but John knew, of course, that what they were planning was risky. It was entirely possible this would be the last night they'd have together. Possibly the last time they'd see each other alive.

She moaned as he rocked inside her gently, blanketed by his sturdy body, legs wrapped tightly about his hips. He murmured endearments into her hair, nuzzling against her as she pressed her nails into his back, a slight pressure between his shoulder blades.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“John,” she gasped, digging the nails of one hand in a bit more as she tried to reach between them with her other. He groaned, propping himself up slightly so she had room, her deft fingers immediately beginning to stroke against her clit. He lowered his head so he could see between them, relishing the sight of his slick cock moving in and out of her warm body, her hand brushing occasionally against his turgid flesh.

His shift in position put his neck near her mouth. He felt her pause momentarily, as if debating with herself, before he felt tentative lips tracing along the spot where Sherlock had bitten him. The dressing had been removed several days ago, the flesh beneath already healed into a circle of indentations surrounded by slightly raised ridges of forming scar tissue. He hadn't touched it much, not wanting to interrupt its healing process, but the brush of Mary's lips against it felt electric.

“God!” he cried, unconsciously punching his hips forward with a bit more force. This startled a cry out of Mary who began laving John's neck in earnest. He couldn't hold back his whimpers, pleasure shivering down his spine as every press of her tongue against his flesh seemed to be directly connected to his cock, forcing his hips to stutter out of rhythm.

“Mary,” he gasped, “Mary, I'm gonna, m'gonna...”

“Yes,” she hissed, “let me feel you. Come in me, love. Come for me.” She re-attached herself to John's neck, sucking furiously at the mark. John screamed, muscles clenching as he felt himself begin to throb within her. She moaned in response, hand rubbing her clit furiously until she cried out, muscles clenching around John, wringing one last spurt from his softening cock.

They lay cuddled together afterwards for several long moments, savouring the closeness before finally separating. Each made their own trip to the bathroom, perfunctorily cleaning themselves enough to crawl back within the cooling covers. Neither spoke of the affect the bite had had on their lovemaking, but it lingered between them. The spectre of Sherlock hanging over their resting forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, married couple sex. Still as filthy as ever. ;)
> 
> Hellooo lovelies! Long time no see! I'm pleased to report that it's been a very productive writing week so I now have a nice little cushion. It does look like I won't be finishing this story completely before I return to work, but I have a nice enough backlog now that I'm hopeful I'll be able to keep writing and still have enough material to keep up with regular postings.
> 
> That said, I am (fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your opinion) going to be implementing a new update schedule. I will be updating on the weekends, once on Sat. once on Sun., at least until I've finished writing the story. (Which means you'll be getting another chapter tomorrow as well!) That way I won't run out of new chapters and leave you hanging if life gets too crazy for writing (which happens often in my line of work).
> 
> Thanks again, one and all, for your continued support. I hope you enjoy the upcoming installments!


	15. Chapter 15

He and Mary parted at dawn, a sleek, black vehicle with darkly tinted windows pulling up in front of their flat to collect her. Both their bags went with her. It was surreal to John that all their memories, their life together, were now condensed down into such small packages. He hated the thought of leaving so many loose ends behind, their home and belongings left for strangers to rifle through, but there was nothing for it. Any changes to their patterns would have clued people in to what they were attempting.

“I'll meet you at the safe house, in two days time,” Mary said, clinging to John in a brief, fierce embrace. “I'll transfer your things to your vehicle before it comes to collect you.” She pulled back, brushing an invisible speck of dust off the front of John's jacket. “Wouldn't want you not looking pretty for Sherlock.”

“Right,” John said with a humourless chuckle. It was the first time Mary had mentioned directly the possibility of a John-and-Sherlock in the near future. Her expression was carefully neutral, leaving him unable to parse her feelings on the subject. Her lips lifted briefly in a ghost of a smile, no doubt understanding where John's thoughts were straying.

“Be careful, my love,” she said softly, darting forward to press her lips briefly against his in a chaste kiss before turning to enter the vehicle.

“You too,” he called after her, watching anxiously as the door slammed behind her and the vehicle sped off, leaving him alone to face the day.

* * *

John wasn't sure exactly what to expect when he arrived at The Centre. Mary had told him someone would meet him there, but that was as much as he knew. The waiting room seemed as bland as ever. He was startled, however, to find Dr. Adler seated in Berryl's usual spot, crimson painted lips already drawn back in a toothy smile.

“Early as always, Dr. Watson!” she called merrily. “Aren't we an eager one.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked in a panic, terrified they'd been found out.

“Why, I'm here to escort you to Sherlock!” she said, eyes widening in mock surprise. “Why else would I be here?” She shifted slightly in the chair. “I think dear Berryl's workspace could do with some sprucing up, this chair is positively dreadful.”

“You know Sherlock's name?” John asked, feeling any illusions at control over the coming events slipping well out of his grasp.

“Oh Dr. Watson,” Adler said with a condescending smile, “of course I do. Everyone here knows who _Sherlock_ is.” She leaned back smugly, clearly enjoying her tormenting of John. “What, did you think we actually call them just by _numbers?_ That's just to fool the public,” she scoffed. “Fools, the lot of them.”

“So many people in this world,” John moaned, “And you're the one I have to meet with.”

“Careful John,” she said sharply. “Just because I've been ordered to help you, that doesn't mean I have to do anything I don't want to do.”

“Apologies,” he said stiffly.

“That's better,” she smirked. “Now come along, Dr. Watson! No time for dilly-dallying!” She sprang from the chair, slapping her palm enthusiastically against the door switch and waltzed towards the back. John hurried to follow her before the door slammed shut, inwardly chastising himself at letting the woman goad him so.

“Molly's got him all prepped back through here,” Adler said breezily, producing some sort of badge from her pocket to open one of the locked doors near the end of the hallway. “Rather tricky, transporting him from the quarantine wing without our usual assistance.” John trotted along to keep up with the brisk pace she'd set. The door led to another hallway, rows of doors with tiny windows lining the sides. Peering briefly through one of the windows showed a tiny, padded room, a mattress on the floor its only furniture. A figure lay sprawled on the mattress covered by a thin sheet, presumably an Omega. Their eyes were open but they didn't seem focused on anything in particular. A thin line of drool hung from the side of their mouth, oozing out until it dripped down onto the padded floor. John shuddered. What an empty existence this must be.

“What happens to the Omega's in quarantine?” he asked. If this was where they housed the regular Omegas, he shuddered to think of what the quarantine area was like.

“They're quarantined, what else?” she replied snarkily. She chuckled as she heard John's responding grumbling, smiling viciously as he fought to hold his tongue. “We keep them caged, mostly,” she said finally. “Muzzling usually helps with any complaints they might try and give us.”

“Muzzling!” John cried. “They're not animals!”

“Of course not,” Adler sniffed. “But that hardly means I'm going to let one attack me.” She eyed John's neck, the edge of his scar just peeking above his collar. “Obviously you and I aren't of the same opinion on the topic,” she grinned merrily.

“It wasn't an attack,” John growled as the Beta finally paused in front of one particular door, pulling out her badge once again.

“Po- _tay_ -to, po- _tah_ -to,” she said dismissively. “At any rate, I could care less what you think of all this. It's not like I'll be working for The Centre any more after today.”

“You're not?” John asked, suddenly remembering what the woman was risking by helping John.

“Of course not,” she scoffed, turning her head to glance at John. “But don't worry about me, this was always just a temporary gig. I'm glad to be moving on.” She grinned, throwing the door open. “Onwards and upwards, I always say!”

John trailed behind her into the room. It was exactly like the one he'd peeked into, only a mattress with every possible surface padded. What made it special, though, was the sight of Sherlock sitting groggily on the floor, Molly crouched before him and seemingly trying to help him stand.

“Sherlock!” he cried, racing immediately to his side. The man turned his head in John's direction, nearly falling backwards as his body wobbled unsteadily. Molly beamed at the two of them, still gently holding Sherlock's hands in an attempt to keep him upright.

“You see?” she said happily, “I told you John was coming!”

“John?” he croaked, flopping one of his hands toward the Alpha as John sank to his knees, reaching out to grasp the flailing limb.

“Yeah,” he said softly, feeling awkward at having an audience for their reunion. “It's me.” Sherlock's hand spasmed in his, thin, shivering body leaning towards John.

“John,” he sobbed, abandoning Molly to collapse against the Alpha's side, face nuzzling adoringly into John's shirt. “John,” he murmured, pawing disjointedly at him. “John.”

Letting out a self-conscious cough, John forced his embarrassment aside and reached up to pet Sherlock's unruly curls, smiling as the man made pleased little noises in response. A quick investigation revealed that Sherlock was naked except for the sheet wrapped around his midsection. There was a part of John that wanted to unwrap it, look for any traces of scars or surgical modifications, or even just confirmation that what was hidden beneath the sheath he'd always seen _was_ actually an Omega's sex. Doing so with the man in such a clear state of discombobulation, though, seemed horribly wrong. Not to mention the two other people in the room with him. Dr. Adler, though, must have seen something in his face that gave his thoughts away.

“Oh he's an Omega all right,” she said, “no doubt about that.”

“Then how-” he started to ask, but was distracted by Sherlock. He'd managed to paw his way up John's torso and was now nosing at his neck, clearly trying to search out the mark he'd left.

“Mine,” he growled happily, extending his tongue out to rest against the scarring flesh and causing John to shudder.

“Sherlock,” he hissed, fighting not to let his eyes clench as his body thrilled at the Omega's soft touch.

_“Mine,”_ Sherlock said more forcefully, starting to lean more of his weight into John's side. A low rumble centred deep in his chest rolled through the Omega's body as he clumsily attempted to crawl onto John and force him back to the mattress. The Alpha bit back the whimper that was threatening to spill form his mouth, wanting nothing more than to lay back and let his Omega cover him.

“I appreciate you must have a lot to 'discuss' between yourselves,” Dr. Adler snapped, shattering the warm content John had let surround him, “but we're on a schedule and he's pretty fucking difficult to move.”

“She's right, John,” Molly said quietly, drawing John's attention away from the antagonistic doctor. “He's pretty woozy from the sedatives, makes it challenging to move him.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't have fucking sedated him,” John grumbled, hating the thought of Sherlock's brilliant mind dulled by drugs. At least now he knew it wasn't anything permanent. He moved his attention back to the Omega still pressed against his body, licking over the mark obsessively.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, weaving the fingers of one hand into his curls and tugging gently. “Love, now may not be the best time.” The Omega made a mournful sound, wrapping his arms more tightly around John's sturdy frame. “I know,” John said, smiling wistfully, “but we still need to get out of here.” He sighed as Sherlock loosened his grip, giving John's mark one last lick for good measure and pulled back to try and focus his pupil-blown eyes on John's face.

“Christ,” John muttered, fully taking in the swaying man before him. “If you knew I was coming for him, why'd you have to sedate him at all?”

“Not any other option,” Molly said apologetically. “Omegas here are always on something. It's hard on them if you just stop giving it all together.” She raised a shoulder in timid shrug. “Have to taper everything off slowly.”

“Ah,” John said. That made sense, but unfortunately made moving Sherlock more difficult.

“Plus it helps ease some of the pain the suppressants cause,” she added.

“Suppressant?” John asked sharply, growing concerned over the growing list of chemicals they'd pumped into Sherlock's body.

“To stop his heat,” Molly confirmed. “For a few days, anyway. Long enough to get him out of here.”

“Come _on,”_ Adler hissed, hovering in the doorway. “We don't have _time_ for this!” John sighed, patting Sherlock's shoulder gently.

“C'mon Sherlock,” he said brightly, “time to get moving. Up and at 'em!” He stood, smiling sympathetically as he saw the Omega try to trace his movements with his unfocused eyes.

“John?” he whined softly, hands scrabbling to stay connected to his body, torso weaving to and fro.

“Right here,” John comforted. He reached down, sliding his hands under Sherlock's shoulders. “I'm going to help you stand,” he said gently. “Do you understand, love?” The Omega's head was still lolling about like an infant's, but he eventually managed a brief nod. John smiled, tensing his arms in warning. “Okay Sherlock, here we go. One, two,” he heaved up at the count of three, Molly standing by patiently at the side as he manhandled the drugged man to his feet. Once standing, Sherlock remained wobbly, looking like the slightest puff of air would send him toppling to the floor again. His sheet began sagging down and he clutched at it clumsily, face colouring slightly as he struggled not to let it fall.

“It's okay,” John said gently, motioning to Molly with his head to help keep him steady. Making sure he wouldn't topple while John got him sorted, he reached down and pulled the sheet back up, flopping a corner hastily over one of Sherlock's shoulder to create a sort of makeshift toga. Once the man was relatively covered, he slung one of the Omega's arm over his shoulders, giving him something to lean on. Molly shifted his other arm across her own slender frame and then, nodding to each other, they began helping Sherlock shuffle towards the door.

Dr. Adler, already several steps ahead of them down the hallway, waved for them to follow her. “They're already waiting for you out back,” she said, darting her eyes back to make sure they were still behind her. “Can't you make him move any faster?”

“Doing the best we can, here!” John ground out, gritting his teeth in irritation, both at Adler's impatience and their crawling progress.

“He's not used to walking,” Molly whispered. “We try and exercise them, their legs I mean, but...”

John sighed. “Maybe it would be faster if I just carried him,” he said. True his army days were far behind him, and his shoulder still had good days and bad, but Sherlock seemed so thin and frail. He was sure he could manage it. He'd just paused, opening his mouth to tell Molly to step back when Sherlock began shaking his head violently.

“No!” he cried out, nearly upsetting the trio as momentarily lost his balance. John and Molly gripped him firmly, both resting a steadying hand on his heaving chest. His breath came out in small pants, hissing through his tightly clenched teeth.

“Sherlock?” John asked softly, hating to see him struggle so.

“I'm...walking...” the Omega finally ground out. “I'm... _bloody_...walking.” John looked to Molly who nodded in understanding. After so many years in captivity, this one, small thing, the ability to walk out of his prison, John could see why Sherlock thought it important. Ignoring Adler's glare where she stood at the back exit to the building, John and Molly continued their shuffling progress down the long hallway.

“Such a drama queen,” Adler grumbled at Sherlock when the trio finally arrived. “One of your more _charming_ qualities I'm sure I'll miss.” Sherlock's head was bowed in exhaustion, but John still caught his responding sneer.

They exited onto what appeared to be a loading dock, a vehicle similar to what Mary had ridden off in purring quietly in the bay below.

“This way,” Adler motioned, leading them to a set of stairs that led to the lower level. Sherlock whined as they began to descend, body grown clammy and cold, legs shaking like a newborn colt's.

“Almost there, love,” John murmured. “Just a few more steps.” He hiked Sherlock's arm a little further over his shoulder, hoping to take on more of the Omega's weight and lessen his strain. Molly, likewise, seemed to be encouraging Sherlock to lean more on her, both of them practically dragging Sherlock between them the rest of the way.

Adler had already opened the vehicle door, murmuring quietly with its occupants. She turned, habitual sharky smile pasted on her face as she helped John push the trembling Omega onto the back seat.

“Okay,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together, “all set! You three are good to go!”

“Three?” John asked sharply. He turned to Molly to find her eyes widened in shock, spluttering feebly.

“Of course three!” Adler said merrily. “Who else is better qualified to take care of Sherlock's medical needs!”

“I am a doctor,” John said darkly.

“Not an Omega doctor,” Adler said airily.

“Y-you can't just...where am I meant to go?” Molly finally whimpered, reaching out to clutch Adler's sleeve. The doctor smiled, kindly for once, and reached out to pat Molly's cheek.

“Now Molly,” she said soothingly, “this is your big chance! Haven't you always wanted to leave The Centre? What better opportunity!”

“Escape?” John gaped, “you mean you were a prisoner, too?”

“As good as,” Adler answered for her. “Seeing as Omega's aren't allowed to leave the compound.”

“You're an _Omega?”_ John gasped, staring at the blushing woman in shock. She looked away, lips pinched together in misery.

“T-technically,” she said softly. “I was...um...I've got...complications.”

“Yes, yes, and you and Dr. Watson will have plenty of time to talk _all_ about it during your little trip,” Adler said, pushing John and Molly into the vehicle, John sliding over to the corner where Sherlock had already curled himself into a little ball, head tucked against his knees. “They already have all the medications you'll need for Sherlock, Molly,” she said, nodding her head toward the front seats where two figures were seated, “and I've already packed you a bag so you're all set for your little adventure.” Her gaze seemed to soften and to John's shock, she leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss against Molly's trembling lips. “Don't be afraid, my dear. You're stronger than you realize. You'll be fine.”

“What about you?” Molly whimpered softly.

“Oh don't you worry about me,” Adler grinned. “I have my own ride already arranged. Looking forward to the change in scenery, to be honest. Ah! There they are!” she exclaimed, whipping her gaze to the second vehicle that was creeping toward them. “Well it's been grand,” she said, walking toward her ride with a small, dismissive wave, “but I've got to run. Toodles!”

Watching her retreating form for several moments, John finally nudged Molly and motioned toward the door. “Come on,” he said softly as he rubbed a soothing hand along Sherlock's shivering back. “Let's get out of here.” Finally, with the doors all closed and all passengers decently settled in, the vehicle pulled away, leaving the towering walls of The Centre behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Wait. That's it? That's the big rescue? _It sure is!!!_ I had several reasons for playing it out the way I did, I hope it isn't a big ol' let down for folks who were expecting an action-packed prison break chapter. After all, this isn't the end of things, still a bit of ground to cover before then!
> 
> To be honest, I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter reads, but hopefully that's me being overly critical and it isn't as rough/unfulfilling as I think it is. At least I was able to get Sherlock and Molly out of there finally, poor things! Much will be revealed in the upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy learning more about this world, see you all next weekend!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter for mention/brief discussion of rape.

John's immediate concern was for making Sherlock as comfortable as he could. As cathartic as his painful steps out of The Centre may have been, they'd taken a lot out of the man. His skin felt worryingly cool where John could touch it, sweat starting to drench both his hair and his sheet covering. John quickly removed his jacket, draping it over Sherlock's bony shoulders.

“I think he's going into shock,” he murmured worriedly to Molly, running a hand through Sherlock's wilting curls. “Has this happened to him before?”

“I think he just overexerted himself,” she replied, leaning over John to peer at the trembling Omega. “Warming him up will probably help, too. The Centre is temperature controlled, this probably seems pretty cold to him.” John nodded, threading an arm gently around the suffering man and drawing him closer.

“Just lean into me, Sherlock,” he said softly. The Omega slowly cuddled closer, burrowing his face awkwardly into John's armpit and throwing a spindly arm across his chest. John smiled, giving the man a gentle squeeze.

He finally turned his attention to the two people seated in front of them. A Beta with dark brown hair and lightly tanned skin was in the driver's seat, sunglasses obscuring her eyes. From what John could tell she was wearing a black tactical vest over her matching black ensemble. He could just make out the gun resting in the holster on her thigh. He tensed slightly, starting to wonder all over again at what kinds of associates Mary was working with.

An Alpha sat in the passenger seat. A pale man with a narrow face but slightly squared jaw. His hair was so blond it was nearly white, slicked back tightly against his skull. His eyes, a blue so light they seemed nearly colourless, scanned their passing surroundings, sharp and expressionless in a reptilian sort of way. Dressed similarly to his Beta companion he also had a weapon, but his was out of its holster. He held it in his lap, one finger tracing absently around the trigger. The aura of danger around the man was palpable.

No efforts towards small talk, or even telling John where they were headed seemed forthcoming, the pair seeming content to drive in silence. John considered his options. It would be two days before they reached their final destination. Until that time they were to be under escort by these two unknown entities. Sherlock's rescuers were obviously dangerous. John's time in the military had left him with a decent ability to read people, assess if they were a threat or not and these two, especially the man, were setting off all his warning bells. However, when considering what type of person would be most likely to take on such a dangerous job, these two seemed to fit the bill perfectly. One would have to be slightly mad, or desperate, to make such an audacious stand against the government and steal one of the country's breeding Omegas. It made sense that they would be forced to rely on people such as these. He sighed inwardly, unhappy with the whole situation. Well, if these two were to be their caretakers for the next few days, then they'd better get used to communicating with him.

“Hey,” he said, trying to get the Alpha's attention. “Did Dr. Adler mention packing any clothes for him?” He gestured his head towards Sherlock, patting the Omegas shoulder gently. The Alpha merely glanced at John, then turned his attention back to the road. John sighed.

“Look,” he ground out, “I'm sorry that having to play babysitter to us three is putting you out, but we're stuck together for a least a couple days. May as well make the best of it.”

“Two,” the Alpha said, his voice gravely and deep.

“Two what?” John asked in confusion.

“I'm only paid to look after you and that Omega,” he said, eyes flicking to Sherlock. “The other one is not my problem.” John frowned, hearing Molly make a muted sound of worry next to him.

“Fine,” he said flatly, “Molly can be my problem then. Since this one is yours, though,” he said, nodding pointedly at Sherlock, “would you mind getting some clothes on him? People are gonna look funny at a man wandering around in just a sheet.”

The Alpha's eerie, colourless eyes glanced at Sherlock once again. “Not safe to stop now,” he said. “Dress him when we've stopped for the night.” He turned his attention once again to scanning out the window. John shook his head in frustration, figuring that would have to do.

* * *

Sherlock finally fell asleep, though his rest seemed fitful. His body twitched, hands often clenching into John's clothing and small whimpers were pressed into John's side where the Omega had remained firmly rooted. He stroked Sherlock softly at his signs of distress, hoping the small touches would reach him in his troubled dreams and help to ease him. At least his temperature and colour had improved, skin warm and dry now under John's hands.

His attention finally drifted to Molly. The woman... _Omega_ apparently, was staring out her window, eyes wide as she took in the scenery flashing by. The tall spires of the city were well behind them, buildings coming farther and farther apart as they moved further toward the countryside. She seemed transfixed by what she saw, peering eagerly at the world outside. John wondered if she'd ever been outside The Centre before today.

“So, you want to tell me about it?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet so that Sherlock wouldn't be disturbed. She startled, whipping her head back towards John then smiling sheepishly. He figured she must have forgotten he was there.

“Not much to tell,” she said, looking down to pick at the leg of her scrubs. “All Omegas are taken from their families at birth. Even if they can't be bred.” Her eyes darted up to John's before returning to stare down at her lap. “I was born with massive deformities to my internal reproductive organs. Means I can't have heats. Or...you know.” She twisted her hands in her lap, discomfort at the topic radiating clearly through her body.

“Is that why you can...think then?” John asked, unsure of a polite way to phrase it.

“Oh no,” she said quietly, “all of us can _think._ Well, those of us born normal, anyway.”

John felt a cold seeping through his body. “But...but The Centre...”

“John,” Molly said softly, “all of us. We're normal. We're just...people. Like you.”

Horror washed over him, leaving him light headed. “My god,” he gasped. “Then that means...”

“Yes,” she whispered. She looked back out the window, but John saw as the first of her tears began to slip down her face. “It's because there were so few of us,” she said, “after the end of the war. The Sickness nearly killed us all. It was easier to just...make people make babies but...there's so many of us now. There's no need to...” She leaned her head against the window. “Now...I just think they're afraid. To admit they lied.”

John found himself fighting his own tears, stomach tight with horror. My god...how many Omegas...how many _people_...all being forced to...it was monstrous. It honestly felt too awful to believe. That his own country was responsible for the kidnap, the...call it what it was the _rape_ of thousands of its own citizens. Many of his friends back home had families. Doting parents who would move the sun and the moon for their children. Every single one of them, John himself and everyone he knew, started with an act of violence. He muffled a sound trying to escape his throat, a noise of anguish. He gripped tighter to Sherlock in dawning horror.

“Did I...” he gasped. “Sherlock, did I-”

“No,” Molly said quickly, turning back to John with a tear-stained face. “No he wanted you,” she said vehemently. “He prayed in his own way every day for you John Watson don't you dare feel sorry for what you've done with him.” She smiled weakly, patting him gently on the arm. “You saved him,” she said quietly, “and you should be proud.”

“I'm not the one who did it,” John said stubbornly. “My wife, she's the one who did all this.”

“But you were willing to give him another way,” Molly said insistently. “John, I found the pills. I know what you offered him.” She smiled in response to John's look of shock. “Didn't you wonder why you weren't caught? Sherlock pointed them out to me and I made sure to hide them.” 

John shivered reflexively, tightening his grip around Sherlock as the memory of that painful decision flooded back to him. Sherlock murmured in his sleep, nuzzling gently into John with a sigh. The action caused something fierce to clench in John's chest, affection flooding through him. He reached his hand up, petting absently through Sherlock's hair. He couldn't fathom what the Omega had had to live through. The barest thought of it spawned a gaping chasm of coldness in John's heart, the truth being more awful than anything he could possibly have imagined. He knew that although his beloved was physically free of The Centre now, the mental wounds such living would have left on his brilliant mind would run deep. He vowed, then and there that no matter what Sherlock needed, whatever John could do to bring him even the least bit of comfort, he would do it. No matter the cost. He nodded to himself, sealing his vow.

His eyes flicked back to Molly who was watching him passively, eyes still red and puffy from crying but face dry of tears. John nodded to her, too, glad to have an ally. The horrors she, too, faced must have been great. He was grateful now to Irene Adler that no matter his personal dislike of the Beta, she'd at least had the decency to set Molly free as well.

* * *

John must have eventually dozed as well because when he next looked outside, the barest hints of red and gold were creeping across the sky as the sun began to slip behind the rolling hills. He groaned slightly as he straightened his neck, a slight crick having developed in it from the awkward angle his head had fallen into while he slept. His shifting roused Sherlock who raised his head from John's side, leaving behind a damp patch where he'd been drooling in his slumber.

“Hey there sleepy-head,” John said affectionately as the Omega's multi-coloured eyes blinked up at him. “You've slept the whole day away. It's nearly nightfall now.” He nodded towards the window. Sherlock's gaze meandered towards the passing scenery then widened suddenly, body going stiff against John's.

“Stop,” the Omega murmured. “Stop...stop...” He shoved himself upright, began fidgeting with his door's handle.

“You can't open that now, love,” John said worriedly, “the vehicle's moving.” Sherlock pushed away from him frantically, leaning forward to tug on the shoulder of the Alpha in the front seat.

“Stop!” he said, voice sounding slightly crazed. “Stop!” The Alpha snarled, yanking out of his grasp.

“Control your Omega!” he snapped at John.

“I don't know what's going on!” John said, worry flooding over him. “Maybe he needs the loo or something!”

“It's not time to stop!” the Alpha replied, trying unsuccessfully to push Sherlock away, the Omega having started to paw at him in a frenzy.

 _“You will stop!”_ Sherlock shrieked, paying no mind to the weapon laying on the Alpha's lap and smacking his arm repeatedly. _“Stop now!”_

“Christ just let me pull over for a minute!” the Beta in the driver's seat finally said, speaking up for the first time. “Anything to shut it up!”

“Fine,” the Alpha growled, “then you're responsible.” He shoved one last time at Sherlock, the Omega abandoning him to stare out the window with a whine, palms pressed up against the glass.

The minute the vehicle stopped Sherlock started scrabbling at the handle again. John reached over to help and the Omega flung the door open, immediately spilling out onto the ground. John let out a cry of concern as Sherlock started crawling away from the road, sheet slipping off his body as the setting sun painted his slender frame with brilliant golds. John sprang from the vehicle as Sherlock made his way on hands and knees across the field they'd pulled alongside, grass threaded through with patches of brown from the warm summer days. He finally came to a stop several metres in, back to John as he faced the setting sun.

John hovered close by, not sure what if anything Sherlock needed as he knelt hunched over on the grass, shoulders heaving with panting breaths. John watched as he extended a fine-boned hand, slender fingers reaching out as if trying to pluck the last bits of sunlight from the air. Moving cautiously to Sherlock's side, John lowered himself beside him, looking at Sherlock's face in trepidation. The Omega's eyes shone softly in the red-tinged light, expression rapt. His hand turned gently, fingers clutching as if they could grasp the light and hold onto it. His eyes closed, head tipping back as he seemed to drink in the fading warmth, the soft glow of the orb in front of him. John watched, a silent witness as Sherlock raised that hand to brush against his face, lips parted as if trying to swallow the glowing brilliance, letting his fingers come to rest just above his chin. Slowly, silently at first, the Omega's thin frame began to shake, tears seeping out from the corners of his eyes. A slight catch in his breath was the first sob he made, but once started, it seemed he couldn't stop.

His crying grew, both hands reaching back out toward the setting sun as a thin, trembling wail fell from his lips. Unable to stand the sight of his beloved's pain, John shifted himself behind the man, pulling his lean frame back against his chest, embracing him as he continued to weep. He clutched John's arms, letting the Alpha cradle him as they wordlessly watched the sun settle below the horizon.

Long minutes passed, John continuing to hold Sherlock. He knew they needed to return to the vehicle, but he'd be damned if he rushed the man. Eventually, Sherlock drew in a shuddering breath, stirring in John's arms.

“I'd forgotten...how beautiful...” he rasped. John pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

“It is, isn't it,” he whispered, cradling the nude man gently. “Now come on, before that nice man decides to shoot us for taking too long.” Sherlock snorted, slowly unfolding his long limbs as John helped him to stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The truth about The Centre. A little bleak, yes? It is why I tagged this story rape/non-con. I know some stories write it as a kink (which is fine, it is all fine if that's your thing), but it _will not be_ a kink in this story. And there will be repercussions from it that will influence the characters throughout the rest of the story. Hopefully that's enough info to let folks decide whether this is the type of story they want to keep reading. I know it's a dark topic.
> 
> The scene with Sherlock and the sunset was one of the first ones I imagined when I began building this story, and it grieves me I wasn't able to write it in Sherlock's p.o.v. like I originally planned because I'm not sure how well it works from John's. It was inspired by this memory of mine where I'd just survived through some really tough times. It was early morning, I was driving to work down the freeway and the sun was rising and painting the surrounding mountains these fantastic colors and I was listening to [this song by Philip Glass](https://youtu.be/kuXwNDbSJaU) and it suddenly hit me that for the first time in my adult life, I felt like I was okay, life was okay, and everything was going to be absolutely fine. I was so overflowing with joy, wonder and gratitude that it felt like I would spill out of my skin and I just wanted to pull over and flag other cars down and tell them how fucking lucky we all were to exist in _that moment_ on _this planet_. I didn't, because work, but I still remember that moment _so clearly._ So when I was imagining Sherlock finally being able to leave The Centre, I wanted him to be able to have a similar moment of euphoria. Hopefully some sense of what he's feeling still gets across in the chapter itself.
> 
> Another chapter will up tomorrow for you lovely people! Thank you, thank you again for the continued kudos and comments. You all inspire me to keep writing! :)


	17. Chapter 17

No remarks were passed as they returned to the vehicle. All three companions were standing outside. Whether to witness Sherlock's display or simply stretch their legs John wasn't sure. Molly looked at them with questioning eyes. John smiled reassuringly, helping Sherlock re-secure his sheet before clambering back into the vehicle. The Alpha, despite his declaration to the Beta, was scanning the horizon around them, presumably checking for threats. Thankfully they'd stopped in a very rural area so there'd been no one around to see them, but that didn't seem to relax the man in the least.

As soon as they were all back inside they continued on, both the Alpha and Beta clearly anxious to reach their destination. Sherlock, for his part, remained alert, peering out the windows at the growing darkness, a tense expression on his face. John rubbed his shoulder, drawing his attention from the fading landscape.

“All right, love?” he asked softly.

“Headache,” Sherlock winced, raising a hand that John immediately noticed was trembling slightly to rub at his temple.

“Been a while since your last dose,” Molly said sympathetically. Sherlock nodded, eyes pinching shut. He murmured appreciatively when John started massaging the back of his neck, hoping to provide some relief.

“Do we need to stop again?” John asked, his inner doctor scanning over Sherlock.

“Not yet,” Molly said. “It'd take more time than this for it to become dangerous. And we'll need to start tapering them off, anyway. My guess is Irene probably packed enough for only a couple weeks.” Sherlock groaned at her words, obviously unhappy about his pending detox.

“We'll get you through this, love,” John assured him, continuing to rub the Omega's neck. A huffed breath was all he received in response, Sherlock shuffling around to reposition himself on the seat so that he lay curled on his side, head laying in John's lap. John chuckled when the Omega reached for his hand, placing it on top of his curls, clearly ordering to be petted. He happily obliged, smiling when Sherlock made soft, happy sounding noises in response.

“So are Omegas drugged all the time?” John asked Molly as he ran his fingernails softly along Sherlock's scalp.

“Breeding ones,” Molly said with a nod. “Makes them easier to control. Plus, it makes them seem more...” she trailed off, making a vague gesture toward her own head. John nodded in understanding.

“Imagine so,” he said. “But then everyone working there...they all know about this?”

“S'why they put Omegas like me to work,” Molly said with a shrug. “Easier to have your employees essentially be people you own.”

“That's awful,” John whispered.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. Not much more was said on the subject, Molly growing obviously upset every time she had to detail what life for breeding Omegas in The Centre was like. They talked mostly about her medical training, the fact she'd actually received a fairly thorough education. He learned that she was highly knowledgeable about Omega healthcare. All Centre Omegas like herself were schooled from an early age in the care and treatment of their gender. They functioned as the true healthcare providers of the facilities. Doctors like Irene Adler were employed mostly for show so the public wouldn't grow too suspicious.

“I'm not sure she was actually a real doctor,” Molly admitted. “Not that I sat in on her interview or anything. I'm the one who taught her most of what she knew, though.”

“Explains her total lack of bedside manner,” John grumbled.

“Oh she wasn't all bad,” Molly said. “She used to sneak me sweets and books and things from the outside. Made the days a bit nicer.”

John nodded musingly. “So, were you and her...”

Molly stared dumbly at him for a few moments before her eyes widened in understanding, face reddening immediately.

“Oh!” she spluttered. “N-no we weren't...I mean I never... _we_ never-”

“Okay, okay,” John said laughingly, raising a placating hand. “You two were never.” He paused, then grinned conspiratorially. “But did you want to be?”

_“John!”_ she squeaked, hand flying over her mouth as John fought not to laugh. If her face turned any more red he worried she'd catch fire, spontaneously combust on the seat next to him. He didn't want to be cruel to her, though, so he reached over and patted her shoulder with only a small chuckle.

“Sorry Molly,” he said, “I shouldn't tease. I was just curious.” She eventually let her hand drop, face still slightly red and flustered.

“It was just nice,” she said quietly. “Having someone do...nice things for me.” John immediately felt bad for giving her a hard time. He hadn't meant to mock her for what was obviously one of the few good memories she had.

“I imagine so,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing it while flashing a smile. One which the Omega returned as they lapsed into silence again.

* * *

They reached the safe house several hours later; a small, unassuming farmhouse tucked in the back corner of a large, overgrown property. The winding, barely visible dirt road they'd had to traverse to reach it had roused both Sherlock and Molly from the naps they'd drifted into, all the bumps and jostling as they trundled along not conducive to sleeping. That meant they were all alert when they pulled up to the building, its overhanging porch and grey, weathered siding illuminated by the vehicle's headlights.

The Alpha slid out of his door, weapon drawn and ready, scanning the darkness around them. Making a “stay-put” gesture with his hand, he walked into the surrounding gloom. The Beta, gun also unholstered, exited the vehicle to stand guard alongside it, obviously waiting for her partner to sweep the area. John wished fervently for his old army pistol, feeling weak and awkward at being unarmed in a potentially dangerous situation.

Several long minutes passed before they finally heard the Alpha's “all-clear” hollered from the darkness, eliciting a collective sigh of relief from John. So far they'd seen no signs of pursuit, but he wasn't under any delusions that that would stay the case. It was only a matter of time before a nationwide manhunt was called. Even the most remote of locations would be scrutinized in the search.

Piling tiredly out of the vehicle, they shuffled toward the boot to grab supplies. Sherlock was still shaky on his legs, hands still twitching slightly with withdrawal, but managed to totter around unaided once John helped him to his feet. John and Molly grabbed what bags there were, the Beta standing watch next to them. She hung behind to secure the vehicle as the rest of the weary fugitives passed a faded wooden bench that obviously lived on the porch, shuffling their way through the front door.

The main room was spartan, furnished only with a small, plaid coloured couch and a rag-woven rug that lay in the centre of the scuffed hardwood floor. A single, bare-bulbed light fixture was the solitary light source that, paired with the dark, dated panelling that lined the walls, leant the space a cave-like appearance. The kitchen was off to the side, occupying the same space with no wall to partition it off. A scant number of cupboards graced the walls, the hob looking ancient and ill-used. There were only two other doors besides the one they'd just entered, both flung open revealing a bathroom and what appeared to be a bedroom from what John could see of its unlit interior.

Sherlock immediately made a beeline for the couch, flopping onto it with a deep sigh of relief. Molly quickly followed him, unslinging the bags from her shoulders, quickly kneeling to the floor to rummage through one of them.

“Let's get you settled in,” she said gently as John moved to join them. He leaned against the arm of the couch, reaching down to pet Sherlock's head in what was quickly becoming his go-to comforting gesture. Molly quickly readied a syringe, drawing from one of several tiny vials John saw tucked into the bag. It seemed filled with other familiar doctoring supplies as well, obviously intended to be used as a first aid kit as well if the need arose. Sherlock remained silent as Molly pushed the medication into him, rubbing the injection site afterwards to help soothe the Omega.

“That should feel more comfortable,” she said with a smile, tucking everything back into bag. Sherlock blinked sleepily at her in response. Ruffling the Omega's hair fondly, John took a moment to assess him. The scant light of the room revealed both the sheet and the man a little worse for wear. Grass stains coloured his knee where it peeked out of his sheet, along with smudges of dirt and general grime. He looked over to where Molly was rummaging through a second bag, finally producing what looked like track pants and a plain cotton t-shirt. “You can dress now, if you like,” she smiled, placing the clothing on the sofa next to the reclining man.

“Think a shower might be in order first,” John chuckled, cradling Sherlock's face. “What do you say, love, think you've got the energy for a quick clean? That field left a bit of a mark on you.” He took the Omega's happy sounding rumble for agreement, moving to the front of the couch to help him to his feet. He swayed gently once standing, pupils already blown as the drug took affect. He clutched to the hem of John's shirt, gazing down with a slightly crooked smile.

“Come...with me?” he murmured, tugging gently at John's clothing.

“Sure, I can help you,” John said quietly. Sherlock smiled a little more broadly, reaching out to paw affectionately at the Alpha's face.

“John,” he said, gazing dopily at the doctor before he started a slow, shuffling trek towards the bathroom. John followed closely after, making sure if Sherlock fell he'd be able to catch him.

“Just give me a moment to get the water started,” John said, sliding past the Omega and settling on the edge of the tub. The whole space had a slight musty smell to it and mildew clung in patches to the worn shower curtain. However there were several large, fluffy towels that looked clean enough hanging over a sturdy looking bar, some basic toiletries like bar soap and cheap shampoo lined the edges of the tub and the room seemed relatively clean aside from that. He fiddled with the taps, the water starting off with a slight brownish tint before eventually running clear. Obviously this house had been sitting for a while before they came along. Finally feeling like the temperature was acceptably warm, he turned back toward the Omega. When he caught sight of Sherlock, though, his breath caught in his throat.

Sherlock had dropped his sheet, unashamedly nude as he faced the Alpha. John froze, confronted for the first time with Sherlock's bare sex, no sleeve to hide it from his voracious gaze. It was definitely more slender than John's own, but much longer, even when flaccid as it was now. It seemed thicker at the base, tapering down to a slender head, the glans much less flared than an Alpha's and bisected by a large, prominent slit. No foreskin seemed to shield it, everything exposed for John to see. The area around it also appeared virtually hairless, along with the rest of Sherlock's body. Nothing to shield it from John's curious gaze. He licked his lips absently as he forced his eyes northward, trying to redirect his thoughts towards more wholesome speculations and found himself locked under Sherlock's heated stare.

“John,” he rumbled darkly, eyes seeming to smoulder in his gaunt face as he peered down at the Alpha. He stared up at Sherlock, gulping audibly at the warmth he found there. The Omega made a soft, purring sound, his unsteady gate merely swinging his hips all the more enticingly as he shuffled toward John, coming to a stop just in front of where John was perched.

His thoughts raced. Memories of what Molly had said crowded his mind. Sherlock had been subjected to so much, more than any person should have to endure. John should put a stop to this, Sherlock was in no position for any kind of sexual contact. However, Molly had also said John had saved him. That Sherlock wanted what they'd done. The Omega's Heat was starting in a few days as well, what should John do then? Back in The Centre, Sherlock had seemed almost pained by what his body was undergoing. Or was that the drugs making him react that way? What would be more cruel? To join him or leave him to his own devices?

“John?” The Alpha snapped back to the present, gazing up at the Omega. He now looked less heated, more uncertain, hand hovering just above John's shoulder. John hated seeing that look on his beloved's face. _Maybe,_ he thought, _I shouldn't just be making these choices for him. He's a free man, let him be free to choose this. Choose me._

“Sherlock,” he finally whispered, raising a hand to trace softly along the smooth, hairless skin of the Omega's torso, watching attentively for any signs of hesitation or distress. Sherlock purred again, uncertainty melting away as he arched forward into John's caress, eyes fluttering shut momentarily before snapping back down, seeming to devour the Alpha.

He reached out to pluck at the sleeve of John's shirt, head cocked slightly to the side as John stroked his skin. “Off,” he rumbled. “Want...to feel.” John licked his lips again, eyes trained on Sherlock's as he slowly rose to his feet, leaving only enough space between them so he could divest himself of his clothing. He first toed off each shoe, then removed and folded each item of clothing, laying them on the closed lid of the toilet as he went. He paused when he was down to his pants, staring up into Sherlock's hungry gaze. 

“You want this?” he whispered, wanting to make sure. Sherlock rumbled in reply, hand reaching down to shove disjointedly at the remaining article of clothing.

“John,” he growled. The Alpha chuckled. _Far be it for me to stand in the man's way._ Slowly, making sure to keep eye contact, he pushed his pants down over his hips, pausing when the elastic band of them snagged over the tip of his prick, the flesh grown firm at the sight of the acres porcelain skin brazenly bared to John's eyes.

He pushed the cloth against it, fabric pressing down against the head of his cock as his breathing started quicken. “Sherlock,” he murmured, a thrill running down his spine as the Omega let out a soft rumble, long fingered hand reaching out to touch John's eager skin, starting at the Alpha's broad chest.

“Mine,” he growled softly, the possessive endearment sparking a warm sensation just under John's skin. He ran his hand down slowly, never breaking eye contact with the Alpha, finally coming to rest at the tip of his straining flesh as his fingers rubbed teasingly against the stretched cloth.

“Oh god” John gasped, looking down to see where Sherlock's hand was caressing him, rubbing the pads of his fingers over and over against the growing wet spot where his cock was leaking into the fabric. His knees nearly buckled when Sherlock suddenly leaned down, running his tongue slowly against his mark on John's neck.

“Mine,” he rumbled again, the vibration of his deep voice pulsing through John's skin, causing him to cry out softly, the noise swallowed by the hiss of the running water behind them. Sherlock snarled at the sound, hands suddenly shoving John's pants down his thighs and pushing the Alpha back toward the tub. John scrambled, flinging the offending clothing off behind them and greedily grabbed the Omega's narrow waist, quickly situating them both beneath the warm spray.

Sherlock made another purring sound, running his hands along John's sides, his back just broad enough that it shielded John from most of the water. John stepped forward, plastering himself along the long expanse of Sherlock's tall body and tilted his chin up, begging for a kiss. The Omega obliged, descending rapidly to press his lips greedily against John's, drinking him in deep sips like a man dying of thirst. John groaned as Sherlock's tongue twined with his own, clutching the man close as his hips ground slowly, prick sliding against a water-slicked thigh.

“John,” Sherlock gasped as they both drew back for air.

“My love,” he choked, arching his body against him. “I missed you,” he gasped. “I missed you so much I-” Sherlock cut him off, descending again with a small cry that John eagerly drank in, bodies entwined, relief at finally being free to _touch_ away from Heats and misery and ever prying eyes.

Sherlock pulled back abruptly, turning them so that John's back was to the spray of water and then sunk down to his knees. He gazed adoringly up at John, large hands resting on the Alpha's thighs, framing his cock. John groaned, burying his hands in Sherlock's wet hair as the man traced soft, teasing touches along John's sack with his thumbs.

“John,” he moaned, lips parted and eyes bright, his soft, ceaseless touches making John's legs start to tremble. “My Alpha, _mine,”_

“Sh-Sherlock,” he gasped. “You don't...you don't have to-”

With a soft, muffled sob, Sherlock reached up to wrap both his large hands around John's prick, slicking his foreskin over his glans in a gentle rhythm, pulling a cry from the Alpha's lips as his hands tightened in Sherlock's hair. His hips punched slightly forward has he stared wildly down at the man kneeling before him.

He felt himself building quickly, Sherlock's firm, steady pulls hurtling him towards climax. He kept his gaze on John's face, cheeks flushed and eyes worshipful.

“My Alpha,” he murmured, “my John. Mark me. Let them see...I'm yours.” He leaned closer, raising John's cock so it pointed toward his upturned face. “Let me,” he gasped, “let me have you.”

John came with a loud cry, forcing his eyes to stay open as he watched his come pulse out to paint Sherlock's face and chest. The Omega moaned, one hand releasing John's softening prick to smear the mess over his skin, rubbing it in with a blissful, close-eyed expression on his face. “Yesss,” he hissed, hips gyrating softly as the hand still holding John's sensitized cock gave one last, soft squeeze, pulling both a shuddering cry from the Alpha and a few final drops of come that Sherlock deftly swiped away with eager fingers. He immediately pressed them into his mouth, eyes fluttering open to gaze up at the dazed Alpha.

“Jesus,” John wheezed, sparking a dark chuckle from the debauched man at his feet, happily sucking at his come covered fingers. He took a deep, steadying breath, reaching down with slightly shaky hands to help Sherlock stand. The Omega hummed happily, draping his arms over John's shoulders and cuddling close. John shook his head, nuzzling tiredly against Sherlock's shoulder.

“You're a menace,” he said, smiling at the rumbling purr he received in response. “Give me a minute to recover and we'll see to you.”

“Can't,” Sherlock murmured. “Suppressant. Keeps me...quiet.” John realized Sherlock was right. The Omega's flesh still lay dormant between his legs. He nuzzled guiltily against the man, feeling chagrined at having selfishly taken, especially given Sherlock's history. Seeming to sense the Alpha's train of thought, though, Sherlock shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “What we did. That was...good.”

“You liked that, eh?” John asked with a smirk. He laughed as Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. “Filthy man,” he grinned. “Came in here to get clean and dirtied yourself up instead.”

“Yes,” Sherlock purred, snuggling against John contentedly.

“Well let's at least get the grass stains off,” John said with a cheeky grin. “Otherwise people might talk at how much time you've been spending on your knees in my presence.” Both snickered happily as they rushed to rinse the worst of the dirt off the Omega before the hot water ran out, forcing them out of the tub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This means Sherlock's fine now, yes? Tooooooootally fine. (Poor baby.)
> 
> Folks, please let me know if this particular chapter seems dub-con-ish enough to warrant a warning. I personally don't like stories having a bunch of tags that give away what's going to happen in a chapter (not to mention I've come to expect dub-con elements in omegaverse stories), but that's me. The tags and warnings are for you. Please let me know if you'd like more.
> 
> It does appear I'm back to work next week. This is good news for my bank account but bad news for writing. I'm hoping the weekend update schedule will continue to keep things do-able, but please have patience with me if there are some transitional pains as I re-join the working masses. Thank you lovely people in advance!
> 
> As always, many heartfelt thanks for the continuing comments and kudos. <3 And now, I return to painting my spare room in this lovely hot weather. (Bleh.) See you all next weekend!


	18. Chapter 18

John realized as he was drying himself and Sherlock that neither of them had thought to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. Which is how he found himself marching into the main room, trying not to appear too self conscious with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

The Beta who'd been driving them all day was standing at the stove, stirring something inside a pot. She smirked slightly when she caught sight of John retrieving his bag from the floor, rooting through to to find something clean but comfortable enough to sleep in.

“Have a nice shower?” she asked mildly. John could feel his face heat at her words. He hadn't exactly been very quiet in there. All the rest of them surely knew exactly what he and Sherlock had been getting up to.

“Yes,” he snapped, refusing to be cowed, “very.” The Beta's smirk broadened slightly.

“I'm heating some ORP's up,” she said, turning her attention back to the stove. “Should be ready shortly.”

“Oh god,” John said with a shudder, memories of the field rations from his army days giving him pause. “Haven't had to choke one of those down in years.” Despite his protestations, the promise of food made John realize just how hungry he was. He hadn't had anything to eat since early that morning and even an army ration was starting to sound good at this point.

“Easiest thing when on the move,” the Beta said with a shrug. John “hmm'd” in agreement.

“So, what should I call you and your partner, then?” he asked curiously. “Seems rude to just call you 'the woman' and 'the man' like I've been doing in my head.” She huffed out a short laugh, fishing a foil packet out of the boiling pot of water.

“I'm Alice,” she said. “My partner can explain himself if he feels like it.” John nodded, inwardly groaning at the thought of trying to pull any information out of her bristly companion.

“Right,” he said. “Well I'm just going to throw himself into some clothing before he's asleep on his feet.”

“Have fun,” Alice replied. “Your other friend's already crashed out in the bedroom. I'll let you three fight over who sleeps where.”

“What about you?” John asked as he reached the bathroom door, his and Sherlock's clothing bundled against his chest.

“We'll take turns on the couch while the other's on watch,” Alice said, opening one of the packets and digging in, shovelling the ration into her mouth as she stood over the kitchen sink.

“I could take a turn if you like,” John offered, wanting to be useful. Alice stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, chewing a mouthful of food.

“It's been quite a few years, Captain Watson,” she finally said after swallowing. “Besides, I'm betting you'll be more useful elsewhere.” John felt himself start to blush again, so he turned back toward the bathroom, Alice's soft chuckle following him into the room.

* * *

Sherlock was pliant and affectionate as John helped him into his clothes, but immediately began to pout when John brought up the possibility of food.

“Not hungry,” he huffed as John led him back into the main room.

“You should still eat something,” the Alpha chided gently as he led Sherlock to the couch, remembering similar arguments they'd had back in their days at university. Sherlock made a soft scoffing sound, folding his limbs in on himself as he flopped unceremoniously down.

“Stomach hurts,” was his grumbled reply as he turned to face the back of the couch, head resting on one of the arms.

“So we'll feed you something light,” John said in mild exasperation. “You can't just live on air and sunlight, you know. You're not a plant.” Sherlock just let out a long-suffering moan, curling even more tightly into himself. John sighed, deciding to try a different approach.

He walked over to where Alice had left the heated ORP's. She had left the room, but he could hear the indistinct murmur of voices filtering through the front door where she and her associate were conversing on the porch. John opened one of the foil pouches, grabbing a disposable spoon. He spied several smaller packets of what appeared to be biscuits off to the side, and he grabbed one before heading back over to the ball of sulk curled on the couch.

“Budge up,” he said, nudging Sherlock with his hip. Grumbling and glaring, the Omega shifted around on the seat until they settled with John ensconced in a corner and Sherlock sprawled along the rest of the couch, head resting in John's lap, face tucked into John's lap.

“There,” John said gently, “isn't that better?” He began eating, the ORP just a flavourless as he remembered it. It was filling, though, and soon eased his hunger pangs. He paused when he was halfway through, tearing open the biscuit packet and giving its contents a small nibble. He then placed the rest of it down near Sherlock's hand, pointedly ignoring the man and resumed his own meal. He smiled in silent victory, though, when he heard the crinkle of the packet being re-opened, then the quiet munching as the man in his lap ate quietly.

John finished eating and the two lounged in companionable silence, his hand taking up its spot in Sherlock's curls. They sat until the Alpha re-entered the front door, staring down at them with his strange, pale eyes.

“Your turn to sleep?” John asked quietly. At the Alpha's nod, John began the process of rousing Sherlock, helping the dozy Omega to stand and then herding him toward the bedroom. The room proved to hold a small dresser and a decent size bed. Molly was curled on top of the covers, dead asleep. John encouraged Sherlock to sit down on the edge of the bed then reached over to gently shake her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said apologetically as her eyes blinked open. “Sorry to wake you, but our companions out there need the couch.”

“Oh!” Molly said, voice blurred with sleep. “Sorry, didn't mean fall asleep.”

“It's okay,” John smiled.

“D'ya need me to move?” she yawned. “I could move to the floor.”

“I don't think...” John said as with a small noise of complaint, clearly tired of the conversation, Sherlock pulled back the corner of the covers and shuffled under them, curling his body against where Molly lay in the middle of the bed. John chuckled, running a fond hand over Sherlock's curls. “Well there's your answer,” he said. “Seems like Sherlock's saying there's room enough for everyone.” He glanced up at Molly. “Long as you don't mind being cosy.”

“I don't mind,” Molly smiled sleepily. “You sleep in the middle, though. That way you're next to him.” She shuffled off the bed as John situated himself along Sherlock's side, crawling under the covers to join the two men as John cuddled Sherlock's body close to his, back facing Molly's side of the bed.

“Okay?” he asked as Molly settled down. There was just barely enough room, and John knew he'd get overheated during the night sandwiched between the two Omegas, but he'd slept in worse conditions during his army days.

“Okay,” Molly yawned. Sherlock mumbled sleepily, curling closer to John and nuzzling gently against his mark on John's neck. John hummed out a pleased sound, the touch feeling not sexual but comforting in this context. It was as if each time Sherlock touched it, some mild illness he hadn't known he had was finally lifting, leaving him feeling calm and content. It didn't take long before he slipped off into sleep.

* * *

When John awoke it was to the barest hint of early morning light trickling in through the room's sole window, thin and grey. Sherlock was snoring softly into his ear, humid breath leaving John's neck feeling damp. That paired with Molly pressed up against his back left him feeling stifled, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. Probably best to get an early start to his day, anyway. They had a lot of road to cover from the look of things.

With much careful shifting and squirming, John was finally able to escape his bed companions, neither one of them moving an inch as he left. No doubt both of them were exhausted. Their entire worlds had both been turned upside-down in a 24 hour span. It was enough to wear anyone out, John supposed.

Entering the main room, hoping to find something like coffee or tea, he spotted Alice curled up on the couch, slow breaths indicating her slumbering state. Not wanting to rob her of her few precious hours of sleep, John grabbed his coat where it lay resting on the top of his bag, then crept out the front door, leaving her to her rest.

He found the Alpha seated on the porch, sitting on the weathered, wooden bench. He sucked thoughtfully at a cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for long moments before exhaling in large plumes as his eerie eyes scanned the land around them.

“Mind if I sit?” John asked. The man shrugged in reply, barely glancing at John before returning to his task. John sighed. Of course the man wouldn't make it easy. Of course.

He sat anyway, ignoring the frosty welcome and peered out at the overgrown property as well, rubbing his hands together to fight off the early morning chill.

“So Alice said I should ask you what you'd like to be called,” he said.

The Alpha drew in a deep lungful of smoke, exhaling slowly. “Did she,” he finally said, dead eyes sliding to peer at John, nonplussed expression on his thin face. John nodded, receiving a “hrmph” for his troubles. “I fail to see,” the Alpha said tonelessly, “why you need to call me anything at all.”

“Look,” John sighed, “I'm not saying we need to be friends here, but we're going to be spending a lot of time together these next few days. I'd like to call you something besides, 'hey you,' or 'that guy over there.'”

“Hmm...” the Alpha said disinterestedly. He pulled languidly at his cigarette, drawing the smouldering tip all the way down to the filter before flicking it away with long, yellowed fingers. “We should get moving soon,” he said, rising to his feet then shifting his head to the side to crack his neck, the sound making John cringe inwardly. He walked toward the front door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “The name's Sebastian,” he said in a bored tone. “If you absolutely have to call me anything.” He then pushed his way through the door, snarling at his partner to rouse her.

“Thanks Sebastian,” John called after his retreating back. Well, the man was clearly no conversationalist, but at least now John had a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Danger Will Robinson! Danger!_ Yeah, anytime the name Sebastian shows up in a Sherlock story, you know they're bad news.
> 
> ORPs are apparently what the British army decided to call their field rations. At least according to wiki. (I think it sounds like a weird kind of Muppet more than something edible, but that's just me.)
> 
> As suspected, I got exactly zero writing done on the days I worked this week. (Physical exertion and creative plot bunnies do not good bedfellows make.) I'm still ahead a few chapters, but if weekends are to be my writing time, asking for help from a beta might be a smart move on my part. I know there was was kind soul who offered a long while ago to help with that, but I'm not sure if they're still available. So if any of you lovely folks would be willing to help out, or if you know anyone who would, I'd be most grateful.
> 
> Thanks again, lovely readers! See you tomorrow with the next chapter!


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock and Molly were already roused when John re-entered the bedroom. Molly was just finishing administering Sherlock's morning injection, crouched in front of where Sherlock was slouched on the side of the bed. He moaned appreciatively as the drugs entered his bloodstream.

“John,” he slurred happily, reaching out with grabbing hands toward the Alpha.

“Do you still need to be giving him this much?” John asked worriedly as he came to stand in front of the Omega who immediately slung his arms around John's midsection.

“I'll be able to lessen the dose a lot more once his Heat is done,” Molly said, glancing up at John apologetically as she tidied up. “It's hard on an Omega's system when you disrupt things.”

“How many more days before it starts?” John asked, petting Sherlock gently as the man buried his face against John's belly with a pleased hum.

“Hard to say,” Molly said. “Especially considering he's usually primed for them to start. Not sure he's ever been on suppressants before.”

“Primed?” John asked, immediately latching onto what Molly had said. “What do you mean?” Molly paused, as if weighing how much she wanted to say.

“You can't possibly think that Omegas just go into Heat as often as what happens at The Centre,” she finally said. John blanched, his loathing for the horrible place making him feel slightly ill. Sherlock had also gone strangely still, body tense where it rested against John's.

“Wouldn't that be harmful to them?” the Alpha asked quietly, the thought of Sherlock being forced to enter Heat after Heat against his will filling him with quiet fury. Molly stared back at him dully.

“Very,” she said.

Sherlock whimpered into John's shirt, drawing the Alpha's attention to him. “Hey now,” he said gently, “that's all over now. You never have to go back there, love.” He stroked the man tenderly, providing what little comfort he could as Sherlock clutched him close, soaking up the Alpha's soft touches.

“Looks like we're heading out now,” he said, looking back over at Molly. “If you hurry you might be able to ask Alice if there's tea or coffee or something. Food, at least, if you're hungry.”

“Starved,” Molly said with a smile. “I'll see what I can find.” She left the two men in the bedroom, John petting Sherlock's back until the Omega finally sighed and pulled back.

“Last travel day?” he asked, face looking tired and careworn. John smiled sweetly down at him.

“For the most part,” he said. “Think we have one more night before we reach the final checkpoint.” Sherlock nodded, fingers fiddling with the hem of John's shirt.

“John...” he said softly. “Are you...” He paused, eyes drifting to the side as John patiently waited for him to speak. “I...didn't ask. Was this...okay?” he finally said, reaching a tentative hand up John's chest. He realized Sherlock was reaching for his mark on his neck. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. He hadn't expected Sherlock to want to talk about it yet.

“I...think so?” he finally said. “I'm not sure what it's all about. What it means.” Sherlock looked away, face pinching together unhappily. “What I do know,” the Alpha said, cupping Sherlock's face gently and turning his gaze back up toward him, “is that I'm glad that you're here. With me.” He swallowed, all the things unsaid he'd kept bottled inside so he could focus on the rescue mission pushed against his insides, wanting to spill out. He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully, not wanting to push too hard too soon. “I was so alone,” he whispered, “after you...fell. I thought...that was the end. Of me.” Sherlock stared unblinkingly, studying John's face as he fought for words. “I would have given...anything...of me. For you to be alive.” He smiled, caressing the Omega lovingly. “And now you are. And I'm...so glad...so grateful Sherlock I'm...” he sniffed, threading his fingers into Sherlock's curls. “Having you here, with me, is more than I could ever have asked for.” 

He nodded decisively, feeling that was all that needed to be said for the moment. He wasn't one for lengthy declarations about the depth of his emotions, but he was well pleased when Sherlock smiled tentatively up at him. He pulled back just enough so the Omega could stand, knowing the clock was ticking and that they had to get moving. Sherlock rose slowly, still a bit shaky, then peered down at John, reaching his hand out and resting it against his neck.

“I'm glad then,” he said slowly, words slurred but sincere, “that I bonded you.” His smile was radiant as he gazed down at the Alpha, fingers gently tracing the edges of the bite. “You'll never be...alone again,” he whispered, drawing John into his warm embrace. John went gladly, but Sherlock's words niggled uncomfortably at the back of his thoughts. He wondered what the Omega meant by “bonded,” what that word entailed. It also jarringly reminded John that Mary, his wife, would be waiting for them at the end of the road. His head suddenly swam with the implications of that meeting. He clutched Sherlock's slender frame close as he cursed silently about the mess he would soon walk into. _Bloody, buggering fuck._

* * *

A quick breakfast and some hurried ablutions soon saw the party on their way. John was worried at how little Sherlock seemed to be eating, but Molly confirmed that this was common for Omegas whose Heats had been suppressed.

“Too much food makes them nauseous,” she said, patting Sherlock's shoulder sympathetically as they headed for the vehicle.

“Food's dull,” the Omega griped as he shuffled through the door, making John grin.

“Guess some things never change,” he chuckled. “Do you remember when I had to take you to the A&E because you collapsed in the middle of Murphy's lecture?”

_“Dull,”_ Sherlock growled, huddling down in his seat, lips pursed in an almost comical pout.

_“Necessary,”_ John retorted, giggling at the eye-roll he received in response.

The trio fell into companionable silence as the vehicle pulled out. Alice and Sebastian remained mum, as was becoming the norm. The passengers all gazed idly at the passing countryside, each wrapped in their own thoughts. John wondered how big the manhunt for them had grown. Visions of his and Mary's faces being flashed across nation wide news programs flickered through his thoughts. He wondered if they'd bother showing Sherlock's picture. How would that even work? He couldn't remember an Omega ever having been taken from The Centre before. The thought of some horrible snap of Sherlock's drugged face, slack-jawed and drooling, gave him pause. Did they keep visual records of the Omegas? Or were they simply a number in their system? Or did they...

“Molly,” he asked suddenly, “The Centre doesn't put tracking devices in Omegas, do they?” Molly startled at John's unexpected question.

“I...I don't know,” she said worriedly. “I've never seen them do it but there's a lot I don't know about their procedures.

“Oh god,” John muttered, starting to paw at Sherlock's skin in a panic, searching for any trace of a scar or mark. The Omega whimpered, trying to grab at John's hands.

“We're not being tracked,” Sebastian's gravelly voice ground out. John whipped his head towards his seat and found the Alpha glowering at him with a peeved look. “Even if there was a device,” he growled, “the vehicle is fitted with equipment specifically designed to short out any such items.” He turned back in his seat to face the front again, paying no mind to John's audible sigh of relief. “So kindly shut-up. Your useless panicking is irritating.”

“Well excuse me for being worried about his safety,” John snapped back, receiving no response. Not that he expected any from the taciturn man. His mood lifted slightly, though, as Sherlock cuddled against his side, leaning down to once again nuzzle against the mark on John's neck with a hum. The Alpha smiled. Whatever the mark and this whole bonding business was, it seemed to please the Omega greatly. Which, for the moment at least, was a good enough explanation for John. He'd have plenty of time to dig for answers later on.

* * *

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully, most of the time spent napping or in quiet, airy conversation. John entertained Molly with stories of his time in the army, glossing over any of the more dangerous or distasteful bits as he wasn't sure how Sherlock would react to them. 

The Omega remained silent for the most part, the drug cocktail still flowing through his system leaving him woozy. Obviously more lucid than he ever as at The Centre, it still seemed to take a fair amount of concentration for him to string sentences together. John suspected he hadn't had the opportunity to talk much during the course of years, which would surely make communicating all the more challenging for the once talkative man. It pained him to see the changes to Sherlock's demeanour. The man of his memory would occupy any space as if he owned it, the very force of his presence crowding anything else out of people's notice. He bragged, boasted, then could offer stunning facts and details to back up every word. He'd been a legend at their school, top of every class and though most students who weren't John hated the man, they also regarded him with a certain, begrudging respect.

Now, Sherlock was silent, small. He startled easily, hovering close to John like the Alpha was his security blanket and Sherlock a child in need of comfort. It was to be expected, of course. John understood that. He couldn't help but hope, though, that time would eventually restore the Omega to something more like the man he once was. Walking tall, proud and fearlessly loud.

The end of the day found them at another almost derelict location, far off the beaten path. Alice informed them as she boiled the water for their nightly ORP that they were roughly a half day's journey from the safe house. John gave a pinched smile, glancing over at where Molly was dosing Sherlock, filled with both relief and dread at tomorrow's reunion with Mary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, so happy to be back! Thank you for the kind comments about needing last Sunday off. I'm feeling better after having a week to grieve and process what happened. Hope you all are having a lovely weekend, I will see you again tomorrow!


	20. Chapter 20

John spent a restless night despite the comfort of Sherlock's gentle snores filling the quiet of the room. Sandwiched once again between the two Omegas he lay, staring at the ceiling as his mind tormented him with various scenarios the day might bring, robbing him of sleep. It seemed like he'd only just dozed off when Molly was shaking him awake, telling him they were heading out.

Sherlock, of course, picked up on John's worried mood, folding his body around the Alpha the moment they were seated in the vehicle.

“It's fine...John,” he rumbled in the Alpha's ear. John raised an eyebrow, looking over at him questioningly, but Sherlock had already begun nuzzling at his neck, settling in for the ride. John sighed. What was fine? Did Sherlock even understand what John was anxious about? Did he even remember that John was married? The thought made John pause. He'd been so worried about Mary's reactions, he hadn't even considered what Sherlock would think of the whole thing.

“Sherlock,” he began, not sure exactly what to say but suddenly desperate to make sure the Omega knew what he was getting into. The Omega sighed into John's neck, settling his chin on John's shoulder.

“What's her name?” he breathed quietly into John's ear. John choked, startled.

“You know, then?” he whispered, wishing the two of them were alone, or at least had some semblance of privacy. A puff of breath was huffed against his cheek. He could practically see the eye-roll that likely accompanied it. He smiled slightly at the thought. “Mary,” he said softly. “She's...she's a marvel.” He tipped his head to rest against Sherlock's brow, feeling an urge to continue. “She's the one did all this,” he said, gesturing at the vehicle. “No idea how, but...” He shrugged his free shoulder, not knowing quite how to explain all the mystery and confusion currently surrounding his wife.

“You love her,” Sherlock murmured. A statement, not a question. John nodded slightly, not wanting to lie to the man. Despite his questions about her, that had never changed. “Good,” Sherlock replied, then fell silent, apparently planning to leave it at that.

“Sherlock,” John tried again, wishing desperately he knew what the Omega was thinking.

“It's fine,” Sherlock said once again, reaching up to touch John's face with the tips of his fingers. “It's...all fine.” No matter how many times John tried to encourage him to elaborate on his statement, the Omega refused to respond to any attempts to question him for the duration of the ride.

* * *

It was just past midday when they finally reached their destination. The vehicle pulled up to an ornate gate, a stand with a control pad sitting just to the side of it. Alice rolled her window down and pressed one of its buttons, murmuring a quiet conversation with someone on the other side of the connection. They must have recognized her as the gates immediately swung open, controlled by some mechanism remotely and allowing the vehicle to continue through. 

They drove a ways down a gravel road, no structures aside from the fence they'd passed through marking the landscape. The property must be huge, John thought, to drive this far and encounter no buildings or signs of life. Suddenly, a large, stately manor came into view, just beyond the gently rolling hill they'd just crested. John stared agog as they pulled beside it.

“You mean we'll be staying in a bloody mansion?” he asked Sebastian. “There's no way we can afford all this!”

“It was part of your agreement,” Sebastian said as he exited the car. “Your wife requested a safe place, this place is safe.”

“Bloody hell,” John muttered as he reached over to rouse Sherlock. The Omega had drifted off an hour or two ago, head resting against the glass of his door. He made a soft complaining sound, proving difficult to waken as John shook him gently, causing mild concern in the doctor.

“All right there, love?” he asked gently, encouraging the man to turn towards him. He frowned at what he saw. Sherlock's face was slightly flushed, eyes seeming brighter than usual. A hand to his forehead gave evidence of an elevated temperature as well. “Molly,” John called, pulling her attention back into the vehicle toward the feverish man.

“Oh,” Molly said, peering back in, “his Heat's starting up again soon.”

“We should get him inside, then,” John said, concern starting to grow. He remembered how incapacitating Sherlock's Heat seemed to be when in The Centre. He didn't want the man out in the open and vulnerable in that condition.

“It's still early,” Molly said, waving away John's concerns. “He's got several hours at least before it really starts up. Possibly a day.” She still came over to open Sherlock's door for him, helping the man to stand. “You let me know if you need something for pain,” she said gently, “okay?” Sherlock nodded dully, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he looked around him. He immediately perked up as he took in their surroundings, staring up at the whitewashed front of the building, eyes flicking to and fro as he studied the façade while John grabbed their bags.

“Ready, love?” he asked, pulling his attention away from his investigation. The Omega nodded, trailing after John as they entered the building.

No staff were there to greet them. John found himself slightly disappointed by the fact. A butler, at least, wouldn't have seemed remiss in such a grand setting. The entryway led to a rather grand foyer, an ornate, glass chandelier hanging imposingly from the ceiling. Everything spoke of wealth, from the lush rugs that graced the perfectly polished hardwood floors to the decadent furnishings he saw wherever he turned his head. He once again began to question just what Mary was tangled with for them to be able to afford this kind of rescue.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a cry of, “John!” drew his attention to where his wife stood on the grand staircase winding up from the foyer to an upper level of the house. She was dressed normally enough in a colourful blouse paired with plain slacks, a relieved expression on her face as she smiled down at her husband.

She rushed down the staircase, flying into John's arms and squeezing him tight. “I missed you,” she said, kissing him sweetly on the cheek. John squeezed her back, breathing in her familiar smell with a smile. He could sense, though, the moment she caught sight of Sherlock, as she stiffened suddenly in his arms, immediately stepping back and clearing her throat. _Okay, here we go._

“Mary,” he said carefully, “this is Sherlock.” Her expression remained somewhat frosty, arms crossed defensively against her chest. To her credit she attempted to smile at the Omega, but it came out pinched and forced.

“Hello, Sherlock,” she said stiffly. John turned to see how the Omega was faring, then paused, puzzled by the man's reaction.

Sherlock was standing stock still, a before unseen tension seeming to coil through his body. His head was tilted slightly to the side and his eyes seemed to burn into Mary's, peering at her like a predator views potential prey. He registered in his peripheral vision Mary taking a slight step back, unnerved by the odd behaviour.

The Omega blinked, letting out a soft, strange chirping noise John had never heard from him before. He slowly took a step toward Mary, pausing when she back-pedalled again, tilting his head to the other side with another soft chirp.

“Sherlock,” John whispered, at a loss as to what to do. He tensed as Sherlock again moved towards his wife, steps more steady than he'd seen them since his escape.

Mary stood her ground, never batting an eye as Sherlock came to a rest before her. They peered at each other for long moments, neither moving to say anything as John hovered worriedly to their sides. Finally, Sherlock broke the stand-off, reaching a hand up suddenly. Before Mary could flinch away, he gently brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, a soft smile melting his strange, alien expression into something warm and friendly. He let out one of the soft, rumbling purrs that John knew was a happy sound, letting his hand fall away as she stared up at his face in wide-eyed shock. Then, slowly, he withdrew, patting John gently on the shoulder as he passed by, making his way to a hallway off to the side of the foyer.

“Molly,” the Omega mumbled, indicating his intention of searching out the woman, leaving John and Mary alone in the room.

“His Heat is starting soon,” John finally said into the ringing silence. “Probably something to do with that, I'd think.” Mary blinked at him, as if suddenly remembering John was in the room with her.

“Yes,” she murmured distractedly, “yes that makes sense, I suppose.”

“So,” John said, deciding to put this moment alone to good use, “I have to ask.” He gestured at the room, the building around them. “What the hell, Mary? Are you secretly rich or something?”

“I was just as surprised as you are, John,” she said earnestly. “I honestly have _no_ idea why this is the place they chose.” Her eyes glanced around at the opulent surroundings. “Not at all what I'm used to dealing with.”

“You said you'd answer my questions,” John pressed, “after we rescued Sherlock.” Mary blinked back at him, clearly not wanting to start this conversation. “Well?” he finally asked.

“John,” she pleaded, “we've just reunited. Can't it wait one more night?”

“Stop trying to put me off, Mary,” John snapped frustratedly. “I honoured your request and you're still refusing to answer!”

“No!” Mary cried. “Please, John, just a little more time. Besides, shouldn't we be more focused on the fact Sherlock's going into Heat?” She moved slightly into John's face, hands coming down to rest aggressively against her hips. “Just what do you intend to do about that, Mr. Watson?” she snapped, eyes suddenly flashing in anger.

“I don't know!” he said heatedly, blind sighted by her sudden attack. “I don't know, Mary!”

“Have you been with him?” she pressed. “Since you two have left The Centre?” John's silence seemed to be answer enough, her head snapping to the side as her breath caught in a muted, pained gasp.

“You know this is difficult for me,” he said angrily, upset by both her unwillingness to see his position and knowing he was at least partially in the wrong. This went far beyond any agreements they'd had for John to breed with a Centre Omega. True, the circumstances were unique, but if he were being completely honest, John was the one who was breaking their marital vows. Mary had every right to her anger, and John was without resource to comfort her.

“Why did you ask me to come with you?” she whispered, tears starting to seep from her eyes despite the furious twist of her features.

“Because I still love you,” he pleaded, reaching out his hand. “No matter what, that hasn't changed for me.”

“No,” she gasped, backing away, “just, give me some space John. It's, too much. It's too much right now.”

“Okay,” John said miserably, unsure of what else to do. “I'm sorry I've hurt you,” he whispered. Mary nodded once, then slowly started back up the stairs, leaving John to his guilt, momentarily distracted once again from all his questions about Mary's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A mansion? Little fancy for the likes of John Watson. (Sherlock will probably feel right at home, though.) And geez Mary, could you be any more evasive? Just cut to the chase, woman! (Poor John.)
> 
> So, this chapter seems like a good time for me to bring something up, so you lovely people can decide if this is a story you would like to continue reading. I've tried to stay pretty open about the fact this is a universe that requires three genders to procreate, and as such, that is a theme that I will be exploring (which I hate to say, as it kind of gives away one of the directions I'm going in, but I know a lot of folks won't appreciate it if I don't). I like to update tags as I go, so what you see now is not all you will get in the end. I genuinely don't want to trick anyone into reading something that isn't their bag, though, so please do pay attention to upcoming tags (which I'll post notices about at the beginning of chapters). I hope you'll continue to read and enjoy, but I completely understand if not! Thanks for reading this far, either way. I appreciate you all.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves arms wildly* **_Please look at the relationship tags, they have been added to._** And now, before you all riot against me, please do scroll to the bottom for what I have to say for myself.

The hallway led down to a large, warm kitchen, its walls lined with white tiles that lent the place a bright, cheery look. A large wooden table sat place of pride in the centre of the room, and John was surprised to see Sherlock ravenously digging into what seemed to be a portion of meat pie, hunched over the plate as if worried someone would snatch it away. Molly sat next to him, placidly sipping at what appeared to be a cup of tea.

“Any more where that came from?” John nodded at her beverage.

“Sebastian just made a pot of it,” she said, indicating toward where the thin, colourless man was leaned against a kitchen counter, hand wrapped around his own mug.

“Ta,” John smiled, spying the pot with three more empty mugs sat next to it.

“Cook also left food in the fridge if you want it,” the man grunted.

“So there is a staff that works here, then?” John asked curiously.

“Boss gave 'em the next few days off,” Sebastian replied. “You're on your own 'til then.”

“Is this your boss's personal house, then?” John wondered aloud.

“One of them,” Sebastian said simply. 

John whistled in amazement. “Must be nice,” he said, “being employed by someone who's rich.” Sebastian merely shrugged, placing his empty mug on the counter behind him.

“Guest bedrooms are up the stairs,” he said, walking unhurriedly from the kitchen. “They're all vacant, sleep wherever you like.” With that he left, leaving the travelling trio to themselves.

“Your wife won't be joining us then?” Molly asked hesitantly. John shook his head, frowning.

“We're not...it's complicated,” he finally replied. “The whole Sherlock thing.” Molly nodded sympathetically. “Glad this one's appetite is back, though,” he said, walking over to ruffle Sherlock's hair fondly. The Omega beamed up at him, smiling happily around a large mouthful of food.

“It's normal for them to increase their food intake right before their Heat,” said Molly. “Help build up a surplus of calories before...” she trailed off, face reddening slightly. “Well, before,” she finally finished awkwardly. John chuckled in response.

“Yeah, imagine food's not the first thing on their mind while all that's going on.” He wondered just what this particular Heat would entail, if Sherlock expected John to spend it with him or if, after everything he'd experienced, it would be too traumatizing to share it with a partner. He also felt sure if he did spend it with the Omega, that would be the end of him and Mary. There would be no talking things out at that point. John's face fell, hating to be placed in such a predicament.

Sensing the two men might need some time to sort themselves out, Molly rose from the table. “Think I'll go pick out my room,” she said, grabbing her bag from where it had been resting near her chair. “I set Sherlock's clothes and medicine bags in the corner.” She nodded towards them so John could see where they'd been placed. “Can you make sure they end up with him?”

“Sure thing,” John said absently, plopping himself into the chair next to Sherlock, watching as the Omega hummed happily, trying to scoop up the last bits of gravy with his fork.

“All right then,” Molly said with a small smile, “I'll catch up with you two later.” She left the kitchen, leaving John and Sherlock to their conversation.

“You want some more?” John asked, gesturing towards Sherlock's now empty plate.

“M'good,” the Omega replied, settling down with a contented sigh, elbows resting on the tabletop. John nodded, tracing absent patterns with his fingers.

“I don't know what to do, Sherlock,” he finally whispered. The Omega peered at him curiously.

“About what?” he finally asked.

“Well...” John hemmed and hawed, not knowing how to start what was likely to be an awkward conversation about both Mary and Sherlock's heat. After blinking at him for a few moments, though, the Omega finally caught on.

“Oh! Dull. Don't worry about it.”

_“Sherlock,”_ he said sharply, “I know you've never been one for 'relationships' or 'people,' but even you must appreciate how hard this is for Mary and myself.” Sherlock's injured expression immediately made him regret his words, kicking himself inwardly at is callousness.

“That was...long ago,” Sherlock said quietly, looking down at his empty plate.

“It was,” John quickly agreed. “I'm sorry, that was wrong of me to say.” Sherlock nodded, but didn't look back up at John.

“You should let me talk. To her,” he said softly, tracing a finger distractedly through the last bits of sauce on his plate.

“And...what would you say to her?” John asked nervously. What was Sherlock expecting to happen? Did he plan to warn her off?

“That you love her,” he said simply, raising his finger to his mouth to suck off the small amount of gravy he'd collected on it. “That you love...me.” He raised tentative eyes up to John's. “You..do love me...right?”

“Of course I do,” John sighed, reaching out to grasp Sherlock's hand.

“Then it's settled,” Sherlock said with a nod.

“What's settled?” John asked, starting to feel slightly exasperated by everyone's complete inability to explain themselves fully.

“Trust me, John,” Sherlock said with a smile. “I know what to say.” He leaned forward to nuzzle John affectionately. “You won't lose her,” he said solemnly, his words sounding like a promise. John sighed, deciding to give the trust he'd been asked for.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day puttering around the house. Mary stayed ensconced inside her room, a fact that grieved John. He paused in front of her door, the slight scent of her perfume making it obvious which one was hers, but didn't knock or try to force a conversation. Sherlock had asked John to trust him with this, and so he would, although he couldn't fathom what the Omega possibly thought he could say to sway her. Ever hopeful, though, John ended up choosing the room next to hers.

Sherlock and Molly had both been lost to him once they found the manor's extensive library, many of the books John saw lining its walls looking old and worth probably a bit of money. Some of them even seemed to be from the Before Times, a rare and illegal thing to own. Both Omegas settled down in one of the several armchairs arranged before the room's large fireplace, the hefty tomes they'd chosen to read nestled on their laps. John left them to it, glad they'd found something to entertain themselves.

He set himself to organizing both his and Sherlock's rooms. He'd given them each their own space, not knowing what proper protocol for this situation would be. Each room was decent sized, most of them attached to a small half-bath. A few were joined by an en suite bathroom instead, but John avoided those for the time being. He figured he could search out a full bathroom for himself and Sherlock at a later time. 

He neatly folded and stowed their few remaining clean clothes into the large dressers their respective rooms had. He'd have to inquire about laundry next time he saw Sebastian or Alice. Neither of their protectors were anywhere to be found. John wondered if they were regular employees of their mysterious employer. Sebastian certainly seemed familiar with this place. Maybe they had their own, separate wing they lived in. The house was certainly large enough that if a person wanted to be left alone, they could remain free from companionship easily enough.

He drew back the curtains in Sherlock's room, staring out at the vast, wild estate that surrounded them. Usually houses like this were surrounded by gardens or decoration, but the landscape was sparse and undeveloped. John wondered if it was because the property was rarely used, or if, perhaps, they used it for hunting or some sort of activity that benefited from the land remaining untouched.

Or maybe they just hid people.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he finished arranging what he could in the Omega's room, pulling back the bed covers of the large poster bed to make sure they were fresh and not dusty from disuse. So far everything in the house he'd run across had been spotless, but John imagined it would take an army of people to address all the minutia of a home this size. It would have been easy to overlook some things. The linens were clean, though, smelling freshly laundered, so he tucked them back in and wandered back to join the others in the library.

They spent the rest of the day there, John finding an old medical text on the uses of botany for the treatment of diseases to thumb through. He'd started a fire once the sun started setting, wood and a firestarter kit sitting on the hearth, clearly intended to be utilized by any chilly guests who cared to go to the trouble. It was still summer months, but the draughtiness of the house and John's desire to do something to care for his Omega made the cheery fire seem like just the thing. 

The three eventually meandered back downstairs to the kitchen, a search of the fridge yielding a casserole of some sort filled with cheese and potatoes and what seemed to be beef that was easily reheated in the oven. John had hoped that Mary would at least make an appearance to eat with them, but she never showed. When they'd finally cleared their dinner plates away and made their way back up the stairs, the hour was late and the Beta had yet to leave her room. Sherlock noticed when the Alpha paused in front of her door, trailing back to join him.

“I told you...not to worry,” he slurred, sleep and the drugs Molly had just administered making him slow.

“Can't blame me for being anxious,” John murmured quietly. Sherlock merely leaned down and nuzzled against John's bond bite.

“Sleep,” the Omega purred. Then, somehow seeming to know exactly which room John had picked for him, Sherlock tottered off, closing the door behind him. After lingering a few moments longer, John eventually made his way to his own room to spend another restless night fighting against the worried thoughts that kept him tossing and turning in agitation.

* * *

John woke early, despite the too few hours of sleep he'd managed. A glance at the clock on the night stand merely confirmed the earliness of the hour, but his racing mind and full bladder refused to let him fall back asleep. He groaned, rolling out of bed and shuffling to the loo to relieve himself of at least one problem. The house was chilly after a night away from the sun. Shivering, John wrapped himself in a quilt from the bed, deciding he might as well get some tea started if he was done with sleep.

He thumped down the stairs, tromping blearily through the hallway towards the kitchen when a soft sound made him pause. That sounded...it sounded like...

He eased forward more cautiously, sure his ears were playing tricks on him but still feeling like he shouldn't just barge in. Inching toward the doorway, he slowly peered inside, then reeled back in shock.

He could see Sherlock's long, pale back, his nude body heaving slightly as he thrust his hips into the cradle of Mary's legs, his wife perched on the edge of a kitchen counter to better receive the Omega into her willing body. Their clothes were strewn haphazardly about the kitchen, almost as if they'd torn them off each other and violently flung them away. John heard Mary moan softly, her fingers clutched to the Omega's back as he growled lowly in response, increasing his pace at her sounds.

Her heart-shaped face was just visible over Sherlock's shoulder, eyes pinched shut and mouth gaping open in ecstasy. John's heart felt like it would thump right out of his ribcage as he watched his wife gasp, mouth rounding into a little “o” and nails digging further into Sherlock's flesh.

Sherlock was murmuring, growling into her ear and John saw her tilt her head slightly to the side, whimpering slightly. His shock transformed to horror as he saw Sherlock's jaw tense, crying out and stumbling into the room as the Omega bit down.

Mary cried out, head snapping back as Sherlock growled. John stood, heart breaking as he watched the two people he loved most in the world entwined together, clearly lost to their lovemaking and unaware of the extra person in the room. He could tell when Sherlock finally released her neck, licking at the wound, chanting under his breath with rumbling syllables that John could just make out, making his chest clench miserably.

_“Mine,”_ the Omega was saying. _“Mine, mine, mine...”_ Mary moaned, eyes fluttering open, then gasped as she finally caught sight of her husband.

_“John,”_ she choked in horror. Sherlock's head snapped back around, blood smeared across his lips and running down his chin.

_“No!”_ he snarled at John, taking a menacing step toward the Alpha. John heard himself whimpering in distress, brain scrabbling vainly to think of anything he might have done to cause both his loves to betray him in such a spectacularly cruel fashion. Still growling, Sherlock gathered Mary in his arms, pulling a slight whimper from her as he lifted her from the counter. John realized Sherlock's member was still seated inside of her, turning his head away from the sight as the Omega moved quickly past him, Mary still wrapped around him as he carried her down the hallway. He paused, though, as John choked out a gasp, the sound of the pain in his chest given voice. The Omega turned back slightly, wild, dilated eyes meeting John's briefly.

“Give us time,” he rumbled quietly, turning back to nuzzle against Mary when she made a small noise of complaint, John whimpering at seeing the familiar affection directed at someone who wasn't himself. Murmuring soothingly to Mary, John watched as the man he loved carried his wife off, back in the direction of the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me.
> 
> So, I know this may very well be an unpopular move with the hardcore johnlock shippers, and I completely understand if this is where you exit this story, stage right. I will say, however, that what happened is an element that's been part of the story since very, very early on in my mind. It wasn't done flippantly, there will be explanations as to _why_ this happened, and I am hopeful that, for those who don't mind reading about partnerships aside from johnlock, that they will continue to enjoy this story.
> 
> Whatever you decide, thank you everyone for reading this far. I've appreciated your support for my writing, so very, very much.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who missed my warning at the beginning of last chapter, please take note of the relationship tags! They have been updated!

The shock of what had happened left John stunned, unable to parse what, exactly, his feelings were. It was the last thing he ever would have expected from either Sherlock or Mary. Was it Sherlock's Heat? Had the Omega's reproductive instincts caused him to force himself on Mary? Did Heats truly rob an Omega of all reason? She hadn't seemed to be struggling, though. She'd seemed an active participant even. John's face twisted in pain as flashes of the two played before his eyes. No, if Mary hadn't wanted it, he knew for a fact that his wife was a fighter. Sherlock wouldn't have left the room alive if he'd even hinted at laying an unwanted hand on her. She couldn't use her own biology as an excuse, either. John had already experienced how Omega pheromones could affect your senses. They were strong, to be sure, but he'd hardly felt robbed of his own free will back in The Centre, even under their influence. No, for whatever reason, she, at least, had wanted to be with Sherlock.

_Maybe this is what I deserve,_ he thought morosely as he began heading back to his room, at a loss for anything else to do. _I've been having them both wait, leading them along while I figure myself out. Maybe they decided to show me how it feels._ It was Sherlock's rejection, though, that caused him the greatest stab of pain. That seemed less like a lesson, more like an ending. 

His dragging feet brought him up the stairs, but he stopped when he reached the top, a faint noise hitting his ears. _Christ,_ he winced as he hunched his shoulders. He could hear them, now coupling loudly in one of their rooms. He hurried to his own, slamming the door closed in hopes of shutting the sound out. To his dismay it only proved louder, the walls between the bedrooms thin enough that he could hear in detail the slap of their flesh above Sherlock's muttering and Mary's moans. In a panic, John fled the room, tearing down the hallway until he reached the farthest bedroom. Clawing at the door he burst inside, slamming it shut behind him. He flicked the lock on the ornate handle, locking himself in as he panted shallowly. He blinked unseeingly at the richly grained wood of the door. He couldn't stand it. No matter how unfair he'd been to the two of them, this was simply more than his poor heart could bear.

* * *

John hid in the room all day. Molly came and knocked on it several times, calling John's name and pleading with him to come out. She even tried to sneak in through the en suite bathroom leading off the room John had blindly chosen, but thankfully John had thought to lock that, too. Eventually she gave up and John was left to sort through the wreckage of his thoughts. He lay on the bed, head smothered underneath a pillow in an attempt to drown out any sound from the surrounding world, gripped with a numbness that seemed to stem from his chest. No matter how he turned things over in his mind, he couldn't see the act as anything less than a betrayal. To be shut out of their lives after trying so hard, in his own way, to do right by both of them fed the dark pit of anger he kept hidden deep inside. _I don't deserve this,_ he thought over and over as hurt gave way to seething fury. _I don't deserve this._

It was late into the evening when, light headed with exhaustion and hunger, he cautiously unlocked his door, pausing to listen for sounds of movement from outside. He wasn't sure yet how he'd respond if he came face to face with either Sherlock or his wife, so avoiding them for the time being seemed the best course of action. Hearing no signs of life, he cracked open the door, peering down the hallway. He opened it fully when no one came into view, grateful that the coast was clear. Tiptoeing down the hallway, he peered anxiously towards Sherlock's room, relieved when his door proved to be closed. Creeping as stealthily as he could, he managed to descend the stairs without a sound, relaxing slightly once he'd reached the foyer down below. He padded towards the kitchen, hoping this trip would prove less shocking -not to mention heart wrenching- than the last.

His hopes were dashed, though, when he caught sight of Sherlock's pale, clothed form seated at the kitchen table, hands clasped and resting on its surface. His eyes were fixed on John, inscrutable expression on his face as the Alpha sighed at the sight of him. He was still slightly flushed, sweaty, but the overpowering pheromones that accompanied a full blown Heat were conspicuously absent. There was one theory as to his motives shot down. John considered heading back upstairs, but a sudden gurgle from his belly made him decide he wouldn't be cowed.

“Guess it was too much to ask that I have my meal in peace,” he grumbled, inwardly congratulating himself that he hadn't paired his words with physical violence. He decided to ignore the man in favour of raiding the fridge, rifling through the various foil-covered dishes before settling on something that seemed edible.

“I deserve that,” Sherlock rumbled from where he sat. “I know, but I'm still hoping we can talk.”

“Not sure I have much interest in anything you have to say right now,” John bit out harshly, heading toward the oven and switching it to warm. “All those pretty words about trust, that you'd take care of things,” his voice cracked, anger welling up inside of him. He paused for a moment, clearing his throat while distracting himself with getting his plate situated in the oven as he gave himself a chance to cool down. “You made your position clear,” he finally said. “You want me to leave you alone? Fine. I'll leave you alone.”

_“John,”_ he heard the Omega choke, then flinched as Sherlock's large hand landed on his shoulder. He turned, ready for a fight, but held back when he saw him. Though flushed with the tell-tale symptoms of Heat, his face was one of misery, eyes anguished as he raised his hand to cup John's face. This close, he could feel the fierce tremors shaking the Omega's body, fingers twitching violently where they lay against John's cheek. _“Please,”_ he begged fervently, “please, just let me explain.” He bowed his head forward slightly, eyes pinching shut in apparent pain. “I've stayed unmedicated so I...so I could be clear headed enough to explain to you. I can...can...”

“Jesus Sherlock,” John said, anger pushed aside as his doctoring instincts kicked into high gear. He manhandled the Omega back into his chair, worried about the side-effects a sudden withdrawal might have. “Look, you stay here, I'll grab Molly and she can-”

_“Please!”_ Sherlock cried wildly, grabbing at John's sleeve. “John if you ever truly loved me please, just hear me out!” John stared down at the trembling, miserable man before him, wondering what to do. It was his curiosity that won out eventually. Glaring down at Sherlock, making it clear he was in no mood for evasive answers or half-truths, he slowly walked to the other side of the table, drawing up a chair and sitting opposite the man.

“Okay,” he said bluntly, worn out from all the dramatics of the past several days. “Talk.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock gasped quietly. He started to reach a tentative hand across the surface of the table toward John, but stopped when John leaned back slightly. He made a small sound of distress, curling his fingers in and drawing his hand back slowly. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the tabletop, eyes shining suspiciously in the low light of the room.

“I did intend for it to just be a talk,” he began softly. “When I first approached her. I made, a miscalculation, though, as to how I'd respond to her, being so close to my heat.” He clasped his hands again, tightly enough that John saw the Omega's knuckles begin to whiten. “You see it's been years since I'd seen her last, and being that close and finally having a chance to touch-”

“Wait,” John cut in. “You knew Mary?”

“Somewhat,” Sherlock nodded. “Our interactions were brief but...memorable, I suppose you could say.”

“Where?” John said, eyes narrowing as he searched the Omega for any hint of lying. “When?” His fury rose when as Sherlock shook his head softly.

“That's not my story to tell,” he muttered, then cried out pitifully as John began to rise from the table, reaching out to keep the Alpha from leaving.

“No!” John snarled. “The two of you have done nothing but lie and hide things from me since this all started! I've no reason to tolerate it any more!”

“Please John!” Sherlock begged, “I _want_ her to tell you, I told her as much, but it must be from her and her alone that you hear it! I swore to her, John!”

John slapped his hand angrily on the tabletop. “I want the truth!” he roared.

“I'm giving you that!” Sherlock cried. “My own, as best I can! If you can put aside your wounded pride, which incidentally is rich coming from a man who as of recently seemed to have no problem demanding the same of his own wife, I can give you the answers you want! Just not about Mary, it is not my place. That must come from her.” His expression was still upset, but Sherlock still drew himself up as best he could with his body-wide tremors. “I understand you are upset, John,” he said softly, “but your temper is keeping you from what you want.”

“And what is it I want then, hmm?” John asked bitterly.

“John,” Sherlock breathed out incredulously. “I still know you, you know.” He cocked his head to the side, eyes scanning over the Alpha, analysing him. “Yes, you've aged, and surely your time with the military and the shoulder injury that sent you home have left a lasting impression on you, but you are still John Watson. And I. Know. You.”

It had been so long since he'd been deduced by Sherlock, it hit him like a punch in the gut. He hadn't said a word about his military service to Sherlock. Not one word. The scar Sherlock had seen already, but that could have come about from any number of things. John remembered a time when he'd sworn to whatever higher power might be listening that he'd give anything, anything to be the subject of one of his deductions, just one last time. John made a soft noise, the anger that had been masking his hurt starting to lose steam, leaving him feeling exposed. “You told me to leave,” he finally choked. “You were with Mary, and you told me to leave.” Sherlock rose from his chair, swiftly striding over to where John was hunched in misery next to the table, pulling the Alpha into his arms. John stiffened, not decided yet whether to allow the Omega to comfort him or not.

“It's part of the bonding process,” Sherlock said softly. “It's necessary for a newly bonded pair to spend a certain amount of time alone together, so their bodies can adjust to one another. You and I would have done the same, if you hadn't been taken from me. It's why you were so sick afterwards.” John sagged slightly, feeling a small trickle of relief filter through him.

“So...we're both bonded to you now?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes,” Sherlock purred, sounding obviously satisfied at that fact. “Yes, you both belong to me.”

“People aren't possessions, Sherlock,” John said flatly, starting to pull back from the embrace. “You can't _own_ us.”

“Oh don't be dense you know I'm speaking metaphorically,” Sherlock huffed, tightening his grip on John, not allowing him to retreat. “Stop looking for reasons to fight.”

“I've just been having to accept an awful lot lately,” John said stubbornly, still struggling against the urge to let himself be placated.

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed, finally allowing John to pull back. “And I'm sorry for that, but please, sit down. I'll explain what I can, though our time's growing short.”

“Oh?” John asked, both men shuffling back towards their chairs.

“My Heat,” Sherlock explained. “It will soon start to affect me fully, and you will have a decision to make then.”

“Whether to spend it with you or not?” John asked. Sherlock nodded.

“I'm hoping you will,” he said stiffly, “but the choice is yours to make. I won't force anything more on you, John.” His brow furrowed slightly, some unpleasant thought obviously gnawing at him. “I know you were happy at finding me alive, but looking on events with clearer eyes, I fear your sentiment has led you to react to things in a way you will come to regret.”

“I don't know,” John sighed, “I'm not feeling sure of anything right now. There's just so much I don't understand.”

“I know,” Sherlock said gently, “and I'm hoping to remedy some of that.” Taking a fortifying breath, he gazed at John, eyes flickering. “As you know, much of what our society has told you about Omegas is untrue.”

“Understatement,” John grumbled.

“Quite,” Sherlock agreed. “To simplify things, in our natural state, Omegas are driven to seek out permanent breeding partners, specifically an Alpha and a Beta. Once found, if accepted, the Omega places a bonding bite upon them, linking them for life.”

“Like...like a...are we married now, then?” John asked, absently reaching his hand up to cover Sherlock's mark.

“Biologically speaking I suppose,” the Omega said thoughtfully, “but stronger, I think, than any social contract could be.”

“What does that mean, then?” John asked, shaking his head at the broader implications of what Sherlock was saying.

“It means that now, when I go into heat, I will smell... _unappealing_ to those who aren't my mates. It also means you and Mary, both, will be equally unaffected by Omegas who aren't me.” Sherlock paused, rubbing a shaky hand along his forehead that John had just noticed was beginning to shine slightly with perspiration. “Forgive me,” he murmured, “we're growing short on time.”

“So...why bond with Mary now? You, what, just lost control of your pheromones while you were talking to her?” John couldn't help but raise a sceptical eyebrow at the thought.

“There were pre-existing stimuli that made it harder to resist making an advance. I'd placed a...pre-bond I think would be most accurate descriptor,” Sherlock said, still rubbing his sweaty brow. “On her. When we first met.” He raised his eyes to glance at John. “You, too, John. I marked you both.”

“Marked how?” John asked, unsure how he felt about all this. He didn't like the thought that what had drawn him to Sherlock all those years ago was some strange biological imperative, not John's own choice in the matter.

“Just a touch,” Sherlock said, reaching out to draw a finger delicately along John's exposed forearm. John shivered unbidden in response. No matter his confused feelings, Sherlock's touch still set sparks along his skin. The Omega smiled slightly in response, continuing his gentle touches. “Nothing untoward,” he murmured softly. “Just brief, skin-to-skin contact while I'm producing a specific pheromonal secretion from my palms that occurs automatically in response to a compatible partner. If the partner is receptive to the advance, they in turn give off a chemical signal, indicating their interest.”

“I don't remember doing anything like that,” John said, drawing in an unsteady breath.

“Oh I'm sure it wasn't entirely conscious on your part,” Sherlock smiled, “but our bodies knew what they wanted. Even without words.” He reached down to grasp John's hand, cradling it between his two large palms. “John,” he said softly, “I could no more help loving you than I could help loving Mary. We three, we're destined for each other.”

“I thought you were a man of science,” John said, voice quavering slightly.

“There's nothing unscientific about accepting that our bodies knew what they wanted and guided us together,” Sherlock said earnestly. “I tried not to want you, god knows I tried, but in the end I was helpless against it. Just as I was helpless to resist her.” He raised John's hand to his flushed and sweaty face, nuzzling into his palm as he gasped out small, panting breaths. “I want you,” he breathed, “I want you both, and I could pass happily from this planet if this once, this one time at least, I could be with my true mates as nature intended us to be.”

“Sherlock,” John said warily, not liking the Omega's fatalistic tone.

“Please,” Sherlock gasped, “I'm not asking that you breed me, just... _be_ with me. If only this once. Please.” He drew back suddenly, lurching from the table as John half rose in concern. “I should go,” Sherlock said shakily, holding up a hand. “While I still can. I will ask Molly to medicate me once I get upstairs, my withdrawal is starting to make me feel...quite ill. I should enter full Heat about an hour from now.” He gestured back toward the table, ignoring John's worried expression. “I found a book in the library you may find useful. My parents had it in their own personal library when I was a child.” John glanced down, spying a large, musty looking tome that had been lying unnoticed on the end of the table. The spiralling, gold leaf title proclaimed the book to be the  Compleat History of Omeagas, its obvious age giving John pause as reading a book from Before The War was an heretical crime. Even with his deteriorating condition Sherlock quickly noticed John's hesitation, scoffing angrily at the Alpha in response. “Oh honestly John,” he snapped, “you've already stolen an Omega, reading one bloody book won't make things any worse for you.” John simply smiled. Despite his swirling thoughts, it still pleased him to see glimpses of the bristly personality he remembered so fondly in association with Sherlock peeking through.

“All right,” he said smoothly. “A little light reading. And then?”

“Then,” Sherlock said, starting to make his way down the hallway, “you and Mary can decide whether to join me, or not.” He paused a moment before turning back to look at John hopefully. “For what it's worth,” he murmured, “I hope you will.” With that, he tottered away, leaving John alone with the book and his muddled thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some explanations! And some new questions. I think I re-wrote this chapter at least three times to get it how I wanted it. Think I'm relatively okay with how it turned out.
> 
> So, I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that it looks like I'm going to have to downgrade to only one chapter per week. I was hoping to write a chapter a day on the weekends, but it doesn't look like this will happen. (I've been having to rewrite huge sections lately, and it's been really slowing me down.) The good news, though, is that the upcoming chapters are longer than usual (which is why they are taking so long to write), so it will be more like getting my usual two chapter updates! So there's news.
> 
> For those still reading, thank you, I hope you continue to enjoy!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this chapter involves heat sex between Sherlock, John and Mary. If this is something you don't want to read, you can skip the section after the break.
> 
> Also a heads up that Sherlock has a moment of dealing with some of the emotional aftermath from his time at The Centre. Don't know if it's enough to be triggering to anyone, but wanted to give fair warning about it.

John spent most of the next hour skimming through the book, amazed at what he read. The history described was beyond anything he could ever have imagined. Ancient orgies where unbonded Omegas would induce entire villages into frenzies, mating freely with any caught up in the resulting chaos, only bonding if a suitable match was among the throng. Societies led by Omegas, Omega monarchs, parliaments made up entirely of the third gender. Stories that seemed too fanciful to be true.

It also described, in sometimes florid detail, the natural rhythms of an Omega's cycle. How Heats were entered once a year and lasted several days. That during a single season, if the Omega chose to spend it with multiple Alphas and Betas they could in fact produce more than one offspring, sometimes resulting in Betas carrying children that didn't originate from their own seed. That on the rare occasions that a Beta died before receiving a child back to their own womb, an Omega's womb would sometimes change and become capable of carrying the child to term itself, though each recorded case ended with death or serious illness for the Omega involved.

Some of the book's assertions made him feel a bit uneasy, describing both Alphas and Betas as the baser sexes, easily swayed by animal urges and less in control of their impulses. The Omega was cast in the role of caretaker. The steady hand the Divine Being had placed on the earth to help lead the errant masses, using their Heats to incite their obedience. Did Sherlock actually believe that? That Alphas and Betas were meant to serve his needs? Surely he saw that although informative in some respects, those views were just as backward as what they faced in modern times. John couldn't remember an instance when Sherlock had made him feel less than, aside from what John assumed was his own natural arrogance born out of always being the smartest man in the room. He couldn't help but feel troubled, though, at the views the book described.

Glancing up at the clock that graced the kitchen wall, John saw his hour was nearly up. Nothing the book described led him to believe Sherlock's life was in danger if he spent his Heat alone, so it wasn't as if John was required to join the Omega. Sherlock had wanted him to, though. He and Mary both. Was that something he was prepared to do? John sighed, knowing he would have to talk with his wife.

Pulling himself up from his chair, John headed back upstairs, coming to a stop in front of Mary's door. Knocking tentatively, he waited as he heard her shuffling approach. She cracked open the door, then opened it fully when she saw who it was. Her whole appearance was mussed, of a woman who'd had a lie in with their lover that had been well enjoyed. Her short blond hair was a tousled mess, sticking up around her round, upturned face. She'd thrown on a long, plain t-shirt, likely one of Sherlock's judging from the length, but didn't seem to be wearing anything aside from that. The window to the room was open, but the rank smell of sex still hadn't entirely aired out of the space. She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, face carefully blank as she stared up at John expectantly.

“Enjoyed yourself, did you?” John couldn't help growling, eyes narrowing as they caught sight of the healing bite on her neck, a twin to his own.

“Are you here just to be unpleasant, John, or are you here to actually discuss things?” Mary drawled, a slight wrinkle appearing between her brows the only thing giving away her irritation.

“Dunno yet,” John shrugged. “Think I at least deserve to be heard.” Mary's only response was to incline her head slightly in his direction. John sighed, realizing he wasn't sure yet exactly what he wanted to say. “How could you just leave him to rot in The Centre?” he finally blurted. She raised her eyebrow in confusion. “At first,” he amended, “when I first told you it was him.” He crossed his own arms, glaring down at her. “He said you knew him. From before. Is that the truth?”

Mary sighed. “It's not as simple as that,” she said. “Yes, I'd met him, and yes, I knew who he was, but it wasn't like we were close. Or like I knew _what_ he was. That he was an Omega.”

“Then...why this?” he asked, gesturing toward her neck.

“I'm not sure,” she said hesitantly. “It just...at the time, it felt like the right thing to do.” She shrugged. “I know you want a better answer than that, but it's the truth. I'm not sure what made me do it.”

“Was it to punish me?” John asked, fighting to keep his voice steady as a sharp spike of hurt bubbled up at the thought.

“How the hell would this be a punishment for you?” she snapped. “I mean, you're the winner here, John. You get everything you wanted. You don't have to give up either me or Sherlock.” She was glaring now, arms tightening across her chest. John sighed.

“Is that what _you_ want?” he asked gently. She blinked at him confusedly for a long moment.

“I...think so?” she finally said. “It's all very muddled. When Sherlock came to me I was prepared to...fight with him, scream at him, hand you his head on a plate, I dunno. But then he was...he was...he spoke so kindly and I...it was like this magnet pull. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to just, pull his arms around me and...” she stared worriedly at John. “Was it like this for you?” she whispered. “Suddenly not being able to think of life without him?”

“Somewhat,” John said quietly. “It started out as friendship but...when we decided we were a couple, it's like we'd always been.”

“Yes,” Mary whispered. “That's exactly what it feels like.” She gazed pointedly at John. “He asked to spend his Heat with me.”

“Me, too,” John said.

“So are we?” she asked.

“You still need to tell me how you knew him,” John said. “About all of,” he gestured around him, “this. No more mysteries. Promise you'll tell me afterwards.”

Mary nodded slowly. “He said you'd say that,” she said softly. She licked her lips, weighing things in her mind. “No kids,” she finally said. “Not right now, while everything's so up in the air.”

“Of course,” he agreed. With a final, decisive nod, Mary sauntered out into the hallway, leading the way to Sherlock's door.

* * *

The sight of Sherlock up on his knees, ass in the air while he plunged long fingers in and out of his slick-drenched hole hit them like a visceral punch to the face. John heard Mary let out a sharp gasp, which immediately caught the Omega's attention.

“Oh you're here,” he breathed shakily, withdrawing his hand and collapsing to his side. “My mates, my own...” he shuddered, unfocused eyes clenching tight as he writhed momentarily on the dampened sheets. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please...”

Mary reached the bed first, climbing onto it and reaching out a small, soft hand to push his dampened fringe back from his face. “You poor thing,” she crooned. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” Sherlock whimpered as John made his own way to the bed, crawling up along the other side of the trembling man. “Hurts. So empty. So empty.” Mary shushed him softly, gaze tender as she ran her fingers through his curls.

“We're here for you, love,” John whispered, running a soothing hand along Sherlock's side. The Omega whined softly, pressing back into John, seeming starved for touch. A strong shudder ran down his long, pale body and he shook his head violently, dislodging Mary's hand.

“Tell me,” he gasped. “Will you breed me?” Mary smiled sadly down at him.

“Now is not the time for children,” she said softly. Sherlock whined, but he nodded his understanding.

“No children,” he breathed. “No children.”

“ _This_ time,” John said softly, receiving a soft whine from Sherlock and a pointed glance from his wife.

“What do you need?” Mary asked, leaning down to nuzzle his face. John watched as Sherlock smiled at her soft touch, hand reaching up to gently reposition Mary so he had access to the site of her bond bite, laying long licks along the healing skin.

“Lovely,” the Omega growled against her skin, pulling back to smile into her flushed face. His grin broadened as she let out a shaky sigh, leaning forward to peck quickly at her lips before turning his head towards John. The Alpha leaned closer, eyes closing blissfully as Sherlock paid the same attention to his own mark, the Omega's soft tongue hardening the flesh between his legs.

It suddenly reminded John of what he'd missed during their previous couplings. “Let me see,” he gasped, pulling away from Sherlock as he craned his neck to see down his body. “Let me see you.”

“Yes,” Sherlock purred, rolling onto his back and preening slightly. “Yes John, look at me. Look at what you both do to me.” Sherlock's sex curved out from his body in a strong arc. It was long, quite a bit longer than John's, still incredibly thin at the tip but now swollen tremendously at the base, the flesh full and reddened with the barest hints of a knot.

“Show him,” Mary murmured. “Show him what it can do love.” Grinning cheekily, John saw Sherlock's stomach muscles tense slightly, then watched with wide eyes as the Omegas entire member flexed, moved to arch in the opposite direction without a hand on it, from convex to concave in one fluid motion.

“It _moves?”_ John gasped in surprise as Sherlock chuckled darkly.

“In many, many ways,” he purred, reaching up to stroke John's face tenderly.

“It feels so good inside me, John,” Mary crooned. “It reaches deep, so deep, like I can almost taste it.” John shuddered, feeling he should be angered by his wife's words, but instead wishing he could see what she was describing. He felt dizzy at the vacillation of his back and forth emotional state. Upset at the thought of Mary and Sherlock together one minute, then aroused to the point of madness the next.

“Yessss...” Sherlock hissed, eyes almost feral as they seared into the Beta, looking like he wanted nothing more than to swallow her whole.

“Should I ride you, love?” she murmured, running a hand along Sherlock's chest to tweak one of his peaked, rosy nipples. “Shall we show John how well you fit inside me?” Both John and Sherlock moaned at her words, putting a saucy smile onto her face as she moved to straddle Sherlock's hips.

John shuffled back, arousal winning out over jealousy and eagerly watched as Mary rubbed Sherlock teasingly against the soft hair of her nether lips, just visible below the edge of her t-shirt. His anger was slowly evaporating in the face of Sherlock's Heat pheromones, leaving nothing but a burning need to see his Beta wife be mounted by their Omega. _Their_ Omega, Sherlock was _theirs_ now and John found himself growling out this thought unbidden.

_“Ours,”_ he snarled, crawling up the bed to thread his fingers through Sherlock's hair, tipping his head back slightly. The Omega gasped, wide-eyed as his back bowed, and John looked down to see his curved member disappearing into Mary's slick folds. _“Yes,”_ he hissed as Mary paused, giving her body a chance to adjust before sliding slowly downwards, coming to a stop at the beginning swell of the Omega's knot, causing him to writhe beneath her.

“Oh Sherlock, John,” she breathed, eyes slitting open to gaze at her husband.

_“Yes,”_ he growled, “take him, take all of him.” Mary's eyes rolled down toward the panting man beneath her.

“Help me Sherlock,” she murmured. “Help me find the spot.” she smiled crookedly at John as Sherlock laid large, trembling hands onto her hips. “We have to do some searching,” she said with a wink, “before I can take all of him. Isn't that right, love?” she said, smiling down at Sherlock who was adjusting her hips slightly.

“Yes,” the Omega was mumbling, “yes, must find it, your inner seam, your...” he trailed off with a low groan, pulling a sharp cry from Mary as John watched her body swallow the swelling base of Sherlock's member, seated fully now against Sherlock's hips.

_“Oh,”_ she gasped, eyes fluttering. _“Oh...”_

“Oh god,” John whispered, gaze shifting to Sherlock's face. The Omega was staring at the point where he and Mary were joined, lips pulled back in a snarl as a low, rumbling growl vibrated through his chest.

_“Mine,”_ he rumbled.

“Ours,” John whispered, then pulled Sherlock's head back once more to claim the Omega's mouth with a bruising kiss. He swallowed Sherlock's growl, answering with one of his own as their tongues fought for dominance. The Omega eventually settled beneath him, chest thrumming with a contented, rumbling purr as John licked inside his mouth, stroking Sherlock's tongue adoringly with his own as his grip in Sherlock's hair turned to gentle pets.

“The two of you...” John pulled back at his wife's breathy voice, hovering close to Sherlock's swollen lips as he looked up towards her. She was staring hungrily at the two men, hips rocking slightly in a gentle rhythm, grinding against Sherlock. “The _sight_ of you two...” she trailed off again, head tipping back slightly as her eyes fluttered shut.

Feeling a flash of possessiveness, John pulled back from Sherlock, shuffling over to Mary and claiming her mouth. Mary moaned happily, pulling back briefly after a long moment. “I can taste him on you,” she whispered, pulling a happy growl from both men as John softly bit his way down her neck, pausing when he reached Sherlock's mark.

“Yes,” Sherlock hissed, arching his hips up slightly and pulling another gasp from Mary. “Yes, see where I marked her, John.” He growled, hands tightening on Mary's hips as he began rocking up into her. “Mine,” he rumbled. _“Mine.”_

_“Sherlock,”_ Mary gasped as John laid his tongue against her bond bite. The skin still tasted slightly coppery, the wound still fresh and healing. Mary shivered, from the feeling of Sherlock's increasing pace or John's worshipful attentions he wasn't sure, but he still found himself growling in response.

Sherlock suddenly made a soft, pained whining sound. “Need to,” he whimpered as John pulled back, looking down into his face in concern. “Need to...”

“What is it?” Mary asked as John laid a soothing hand against the Omega's flushed cheek.

“Let me mount you,” Sherlock gasped, hands spasming on her hips. “Please, Mary, please...”

“Of course,” she said softly. “What should I-”

Sherlock groaned impatiently, reaching up to wrap his hands around her waist and then rolling them over, managing to stay seated inside her as he settled between her spread legs, pushing up onto his hands so he was arched above her and then snarling down.

“Mine,” he rumbled as he began to roll his hips, eyes burning as Mary cried out beneath him. “My mate.”

“Sherlock,” she sobbed as John shifted to lay next to her, nuzzling against her flushed face.

“You look so beautiful,” he breathed into her ear, reaching out his hand to slide under her t-shirt, cupping her breast gently.

“Touch me John,” she gasped. “I'm so close, I just...just...” she pounded her head back on the pillow, face twisted in ecstasy as Sherlock growled above her.

“Yes,” the Omega rumbled as John began snaking his hand down to where his two lovers were joined. “Yes, make her come, John. Let me feel her _clench_ around me.” John moaned, his own neglected cock twitching as his fingers found Mary's clit, circling it steadily as she sobbed.

“Oh love,” John moaned, “oh yes, come for us. Come for us Mary, please...”

With a loud cry, Mary's back arched off the bed, eyes wide and sightless as she reached her climax. Sherlock roared above her, hips punching forward violently one last time before he collapsed on top of her, tucking his face into her shoulder. “Oh,” he moaned, “oh my knot, yes, ohhh take it, let me...let me...”

Mary's hands suddenly began scrabbling wildly along Sherlock's back, body twitching violently as John pulled back to see her clearly. Her eyes were wide with alarm, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“What is it?” John cried worriedly.

“Sh-Sherlock,” she stuttered, “what are...what are you,” she shifted, looking like she was trying to squirm out from under the Omega. John moved to help her when Sherlock's hand suddenly clamped onto his arm.

“No!” the Omega bellowed, head snapping up to confront John. “No, you musn't move her!” He turned, face softening as he shushed the panicking Beta beneath him. “You must stay still,” he crooned at her.

“Are you in pain, Mary?” John asked worriedly, feeling relief when he saw her shake her head.

“It feels strange,” she whispered, blinking up at Sherlock.

“I'm breeding you,” the Omega crooned. “I'm plucking our child to be housed in my flesh.” He shut his eyes, body trembling slightly as both Mary and John glanced at each other in alarm.

“Sherlock,” she said hesitantly.

“I know,” he gasped, head falling back down to Mary's shoulder, muffling his words. “I know you aren't breeding me this heat. Just let me, let me hold them for a while. Your seed...” His body shuddered again, whether from what was happening with his member inside Mary or some sort of emotional response, John wasn't sure.

“You're just...taking eggs then?” John asked, running a soothing hand between Sherlock's shoulder blades. The Omega nodded in response.

“It's why I have a knot,” he said breathlessly. “We could be injured if we tried to separate before the process was done.” He started suddenly, letting out a low moan. “Oh,” he breathed, “oh, there you are...”

_“God,”_ Mary whimpered, eyes pinching shut as she writhed slightly. “Oh, whatever you're doing in there it feels _amazing.”_

_“Yesss,”_ Sherlock hissed, “yes, breed me...breed me...oh my little loves...” Somehow, John didn't think Sherlock was talking about him and Mary at the moment, trying to picture what must be going on inside his wife. He startled when Sherlock suddenly gripped his arm again.

“It's time,” the Omega hissed. “It's time, yes, mount me, fill me John. I can feel it, I'm ready.” John moaned, cock twitching between his legs, but he still looked down to check on Mary.

“You all right, love?” he murmured. “You gonna be okay down there?”

“Oh yes,” she gasped. “Yes John, let me feel you take him.” John let out a low, heartfelt groan. He stood, quickly and efficiently shedding his clothing. Moving down the bed, trailing his hand along Sherlock's back, he crawled back onto the mattress as he slid his fingers through the Omega's drenched cleft.

“You're open for me, then?” he whispered, circling a finger along the sensitive edge of Sherlock's swollen rim. “Saw you stuffed full of your own fingers, wicked man,” he growled. “Think they were enough? Think you can take my knot now?” At that, he plunged a finger quickly and suddenly into Sherlock's hole, moaning as the Omega let out a stuttering cry, upper body curling back away from Mary. “Yes,” John hissed, pistoning the digit in out of Sherlock's slick, tight heat. “Yes love, show me how you want it.”

_“John!”_ the Omega wailed as one finger quickly became two, became three, writhing on top of the Beta below him, pulling soft cries of pleasure from her lips as he shifted inside her, still knotted firmly within her folds. Finally, with a loud growl, John snatched his hand back, any thoughts towards finesse abandoned in favour of stuffing his cock inside of Sherlock as quickly as possible.

_“Take it,”_ he snarled, shoving past the loosened ring of Sherlock's hole in one, brutal thrust. _“Show me how you want it,”_ he growled, relishing Sherlock's and Mary's frenzied cries as he began pounding them both into the mattress.

“Yes,” Mary was gasping, fingernails digging in deep enough that John saw blood beginning to pool around them where they dug into Sherlock's broad back. “Oh god, so deep, so _good...”_ Her head snapped back suddenly, eyes fluttering as she came again. Sherlock howled in response, thrashing and nearly crazed from her muscles squeezing around him. John snarled in response, feeling his knot start to catch on Sherlock's rim.

“Gonna stuff you full,” he rumbled. “You'll be so full of me, Sherlock.” The Omega merely sobbed in response, seemingly overwhelmed from the feeling of his mates above and below him. He buried his face in Mary's shoulder, body shuddering as his hands clenched into the bedsheets.

John roared as he shoved one last time into his Omega's willing body, knot expanding as his orgasm punched through him, gasping as Sherlock's channel cradled his pulsing flesh, easily accepting all John had to give. Groaning blissfully, John caught himself as he began to collapse, not wanting to crush his partners.

“Sherlock love,” he mumbled, “is there...any way you could...oh god...” he trailed off as a second pulse washed through him, leaving him curled and panting over the Omega's back. He felt a soothing hand carding through his hair. Once his vision had cleared he looked down to find Mary, smiling up at him with a fond expression as she petted him softly.

“Should be able to roll him off of me,” she said softly. “Think he's shrunk enough he can pull out.” John nodded tiredly.

“Sherlock,” he said softly, “we're going to move you now, love. Okay?” He felt a small thread of concern when he received no response, the Omega lying limp and motionless beneath him. “Sherlock?” he asked worriedly.

“Here, roll off me, John,” Mary said, starting to become concerned as well. “Sherlock?” she asked softly, trying to shift him so she could see his face, which was still tucked into her shoulder. “Are you awake?”

“Hang on,” John said, bracing one hand on the bed and wrapping the other around Sherlock's torso. He managed to roll them to their sides, trying immediately to look over the Omega's broad shoulder so he could asses his condition. Mary was pawing frantically at his face with an expression of alarm.

“What is it Sherlock?” she asked. “Are you hurt?” She looked up at John in dismay. “He's crying.”

“Oh god,” John whispered, guilt immediately starting to flood him.

“Sherlock?” Mary asked again, growing more persistent. “Can you speak?”

A loud sob rang out, Sherlock's slim frame shaking in John's arms. “Oh love,” the Alpha breathed mournfully, trying with all his might to will his knot down. “Oh I'm so sorry, my love.”

“Don't,” Sherlock whimpered. “Don't leave. Please.”

“What?” Mary asked, confused.

“Don't _leave,”_ the Omega sobbed, reaching out suddenly to grab Mary, pulling her to his front as she squawked in surprise. A dawning understanding finally threaded its way through John's muddled brain.

“Oh, no love,” he whispered, “no, no one's going to take us away. You're safe, Sherlock. You're safe.” He was met with another sob in response, a questioning noise drifting up from where Mary was cocooned in his arms. “They'd drug us and take him away at The Centre,” John explained to her. “Think this is some kind of...emotional response.” He nuzzled miserably into Sherlock's back, wishing he could do more to comfort him.

“We're still here, Sherlock,” he heard Mary's muffled voice croon, trying to help John placate the still trembling Omega. “We've got you. We won't let them take you again.” Sherlock whimpered at her voice, arms tightening around her.

“My love,” John whispered, reaching up to pet Sherlock's hair soothingly, kissing his neck tenderly. Having dealt with his own demons after his time in the army, he knew the most either of them could do was just be there with the man. “My love. We're not going anywhere.” Eventually his knot went down, but despite the rush of semen that spilled out as his cock slipped away, John remained plastered to Sherlock's back, holding the damaged man safely between he and his wife until he emerged from whatever dark space his mind had trapped him into. A steady, loving presence, an anchor to reality. They held him safe until his slow, even breaths signalled his eventual slide into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there lovely readers, have a helping of my atypical omegaverse sexing! :)
> 
> Fun little bit of world building for me. I enjoy (obviously) stories that turn gender roles on their heads, so I liked the idea that Omegas used to be demeaning and possibly oppressive. Muddy waters makes for fun plot bunnies.
> 
> Not much to say aside from that. I've tried to update the tags a bit more, as I had someone last week request I make it a bit more clear that this story is very atypical in its a/b/o dynamics. And after giving it a think, I decided they made a very good point. So hopefully that helps.
> 
> Thank you for the continued comments and kudos on my story! I'll see you all next week!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warnings:** Allusions to miscarriage (sort of). To explain, this chapter ends Sherlock's heat, and will not result in Mary becoming pregnant. Which means Sherlock will "lose" the fertilized eggs. I know each person has their own sensitivities surrounding pregnancies and the loss of them, even taking alien biology into account. So if this is a subject you are in any way triggered by, please do give this chapter a pass. I am pretty certain it will upset you.
> 
> Also, Sherlock will continue to have bad emotional reactions due to his time from The Centre. In this chapter it includes an attempt to self-harm and brief mentions of past children due to the "breeding" program.
> 
> Basically, please proceed with caution. This chapter contains a bit of angst. (And sex. But also angst.)

After Sherlock had been peacefully sleeping for a decent length of time, John found himself growing restless. The urge to make himself useful gnawed at him until he finally roused himself from the bed.

“John?” Mary asked as he started searching for his discarded clothes.

“Figured I'd grab us something to drink,” he said, at a loss to explain his sudden urge to make sure the bedroom seemed comfortable and secure. “Don't think we're exactly prepared for days worth of..all this.”

“Well don't be gone long,” she replied with a yawn as John headed toward the bathroom for a quick rinse. “Might upset him if he woke up and you weren't here.”

“Yes dear,” John sighed, rolling his eyes in slight annoyance at her presumption. Honestly, where did she get off telling him what was best for Sherlock? As if John hadn't been fighting for Sherlock's best interests this whole time. Inwardly grumbling, he washed quickly at the sink with a flannel, then threw on his clothes and marched back into the bedroom. Mary was already curled up again next to Sherlock, rubbing a hand in soothing circles along the Omega's back. The image calmed John slightly, reminding him that no matter their mysterious past, Mary seemed to genuinely care about Sherlock's well being. Hopefully once this was all over he'd be able to get a straight answer from her about the whole business once and for all.

His journey from the bedroom found him once again poking around the kitchen, his search through the cupboards yielding several bottles of water and a collection of protein bars and biscuit packets. Obviously whoever normally frequented the house had a lifestyle that leant itself to eating on the go. Finally satisfied he'd found enough to sustain all three of them, he made his way back toward the bedroom, feeling an equally sudden urge to return to Sherlock and ensure his safety. Once he reached the top of the stairs, however, he nearly ran right into Molly, the Omega seemingly waiting for him to return.

“So you three seem to be working things out between yourselves, then,” she said, a soft smile telling John she wasn't trying to be flippant or tease him.

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” he said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot and fidgeting with his various packages and bottles.

“Good,” Molly said, seeming to mean it but expression turning a bit more sombre. “Listen...” she said slowly, “I know it's...private and all, but...were you...I mean the three of you _are_ all there and...were you...”

“Molly,” John sighed, wondering why in hell she was prying into his personal affairs. “If you're asking what I think you're asking, you're right. It _is_ a private affair whether or not we're trying to have a baby or not.”

“Normally, yes,” Molly said, blushing slightly but obstinately soldering on despite John's frosty response. “But it's not that simple.”

“What do you mean?” John asked testily, anxious to get back to his waiting Omega.

“Just be aware,” Molly warned, “that if you're not going to let him... _seed_ Mary, he might not react well.”

“Will it hurt him?” John asked, suddenly alarmed as he thought back to what he'd read about Omega pregnancies and the fatalities they could potentially cause.

“Not physically,” Molly demurred, “not exactly anyways.”

“Then what _are_ you saying?” John sighed tiredly.

“I'm saying...watch out for him. Emotionally. I've seen him react...badly before.” Molly replied quietly. John immediately stopped bristling, glad that she had the foresight to warn him about what John was sure was some form of PTSD in his Heat-blown Omega. He'd already experienced one emotional reaction from him already, god only knew what other hidden hurts remained lurking within Sherlock's sorely abused heart.

“Thanks Molly,” he said softly. She nodded in response.

“Just watch out for him,” she replied, leaving John hurry back to Sherlock's side.

* * *

“Finally,” Mary snapped from where she was attempting to soothe a whimpering Sherlock. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry love,” John crooned at the distressed man, setting his armful of items on the night stand and sliding into bed beside him. He wrapped an arm around him and placed a gentle kiss on his temple. “I didn't mean to be away when you woke up.” Sherlock immediately turned toward John and cuddled against him. John noticed how warm he was, skin sweat drenched and feverish again, and frowned. “How long has he been this bad?” he asked Mary, looking to where his wife was glaring at him as she propped herself up on an elbow.

“Just after you left,” she grumbled. “Came on suddenly. Think it was triggered by you leaving.”

“Well it's not a bad thing I did,” John retorted as he reached behind him for a water, “because then I wouldn't have these.” He smiled down at Sherlock, trying to coax his face out from where it was pressed into John's chest. “Hey there love,” he said softly, “would you be able to drink some of this for me?” Sherlock whimpered, but drew his head back a bit, blinking up at John.

“Where am I?” he whispered, confusion painting his face.

“You're at a safe house,” John said, concerned at how disoriented Sherlock seemed to be. “With me and Mary.”

“Mary...” Sherlock breathed, eyes fluttering slightly. “John. My mates...”

“Yes love,” John said with a smile, brushing Sherlock's flushed forehead gently with his lips. “Your mates.”

“Wasn't a dream,” Sherlock sighed, body finally starting to relax.

“No, you really are free now,” Mary chimed in, reaching out to take the bottle of water from John's hand and twisting the cap off. “Are you thirsty? You've a terrible fever.” Sherlock made a soft noise of complaint, but his protests were ignored as both doctor and nurse shifted and prodded him until he finally took a few small, begrudging sips. Eventually they managed to prop the now sulky Omega up against the headboard, both doing what they could to cool him off.

“Please,” Sherlock whimpered, reaching his hands out and pawing blindly at the two of them.

“What do you need, love?” John asked, combing the Omega's drenched fringe away from his brow.

_“Please,”_ he begged again, finally reaching John's hand and drawing it down between his legs towards his drenched cleft.

“Again?” John asked, remembering the book's stories of week long orgies. Would he even be able to go that many rounds? Sherlock whimpered again, trying to pull John closer to him.

“Do you...need me for anything?” he heard Mary ask, drawing his attention away from Sherlock. He could tell she was trying to be neutral, but after the frenzy of their first encounter some of her ardour had seemed to cool. Sherlock seemed too far gone to notice her hesitation.

“Mates,” he gasped, pulling John's body towards his, “my mates. Fill me, breed me, take me, yes...” He scooted himself down the bed until he was supine on the mattress, eagerly manhandling John until the Alpha was laid on top of his feverish body. John couldn't help but groan as Sherlock thrust his hips up, grinding himself against John's hardening cock.

“I'll just...” he looked back over to Mary, who was slowly inching her way off the side of the bed, clearly eager to escape. Sherlock, though, let out a wild cry once he realized her intent.

“Don't leave!” he whimpered. “Don't leave me don't leave me don't-”

“All right!” she cried in exasperation. “I'll stay and...and watch John fuck you if that'll make you happy.”

“Mary,” Sherlock moaned, finally registering her distress. “John, off,” he ordered rudely, pushing at the Alpha's shoulder. John rolled to the side and watched as Sherlock flopped his way over to the Beta, collapsing on top of her.

“Forgive me,” he rumbled. “I am, not myself and my body wants...” he shuddered against her, his sweat painting her skin where they touched. “I'm so empty,” he moaned, “so empty inside but...I want you both. I _need_ you both.” He pulled back, petted a large, trembling hand through Mary short blond hair. “Teach me what you need,” he murmured. “Let me bring you pleasure while John fills me full.” He nuzzled against her quickly reddening face, running a palm along her side. “I'll be such a good mate for you,” he purred. “Teach me, Mary. Let me learn.” His purr increased as he saw her nod her agreement.

* * *

The next few days flew by in a blur. John lost count of how many times he'd entered the Omega, Sherlock's body on a seemingly never ending quest to be filled with John's knot. Mary, too, seemed wrung out with pleasure, Sherlock proving a quick study in how to play her body with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, teasing out climax after climax until she lay trembling and insensate on the bed, slapping both men's hands away from her oversensitized flesh.

Husband and wife took turns leaving the bedroom for supplies, both worried about keeping Sherlock hydrated and at least somewhat fed, though his entire focus seemed to be on mating as many times as possible. They also would occasionally administer small doses of Sherlock's sedative, keeping the Omega from suffering withdrawals as well as his raging Heat. In one of the brief moments where Sherlock finally passed out from exhaustion, John relayed to Mary what Molly had told them, eliciting every caregiving instinct John knew from personal experience his wife possessed. She would have tracked Molly down and grilled her for more information if not for her concern about leaving Sherlock for too long, the man falling into a terrified frenzy if he ever woke to find either of them gone.

During one of his brief sojourns to the kitchen John encountered Sebastian, the colourless man sitting placidly at the kitchen table, tea in hand.

“It's entered its Heat, then?” he asked John gruffly. Bristling slightly at the Alpha's continued insistence of referring to Sherlock as an “it,” John nodded in confirmation.

“Boss will be here soon,” Sebastian said, voice sounding bored. “Probably around the time you're all finished.”

“Ah?” John asked distractedly, focused on returning to Sherlock as quickly as possible. Sebastian didn't deign to say anything further, simply sipping silently at his tea. “Well, ah, tell them I said hi?” John said, arms now full of more water bottles and protein bars, already heading out the doorway.

“Oh you'll have plenty of time to tell him that yourself,” Sebastian called after him, the smugness in his voice barely registering as John hurried down the hallway.

* * *

It was the fourth day when Sherlock's heat finally seemed to be abating, the couplings not as frenzied as before, allowing them all to take their time. John was up on his knees, Sherlock spread across his lap as the Alpha leisurely rocked his cock into Sherlock's slick channel. His body, feeling strained and slightly chafed after days of fucking, still revelled in the snug grasp of Sherlock's body, his wetness spilling down from where John pierced him to drench the Alpha's thighs. The sweet dance of Sherlock's flesh against his own helped distract him from the aches and pains, spurring him on despite his abused state. Mary knelt before them, fingers running along the swollen length of Sherlock's sex, touches light and teasing.

“You like that love?” he whispered into Sherlock's ear, the man's head resting back on John's broad shoulder. He drank in the soft _ah, ah, ah's_ the Omega was gasping, rubbing his hand along his slightly swollen belly. A seeming deluge of John's spend would flood out after every round, but apparently Sherlock's body was also designed to retain a great deal of it throughout his Heat. After the amount of times John had taken him, the skin of the Omega's abdomen was now taut, warm to the touch. The very thought that John had been the one to put him in that state caused a thrill of base excitement to run through the Alpha, some dark, animal part of his hindbrain thrumming with possessive pleasure. “You're so full now,” he moaned, “so full of my come. You're practically bursting with it, aren't you?” Sherlock shuddered, writhing in John's arms.

John growled, keeping his slow and steady pace despite the feel of his knot beginning to expand. He'd entered the Omega so many times, now, the swelling flesh slipped easily in and out, just barely catching on Sherlock's rim. “You feel that?” he whispered. “You think there's even room in there for more?”

“Please,” Sherlock whined. It seemed to be the only word he was capable of saying when in the throes of their coupling, begging openly in a way that drove John to distraction.

“I don't know John,” Mary said coyly, running a hand along the stretched skin of Sherlock's stomach. “I think you may need to pull out this time, he seems so full.” Both chuckled as Sherlock made a loud, awkward squawk, pushing back greedily onto John and grinding.

“What, you think you can take it, love?” John smirked. “Think there's still room up there?”

“Please!” Sherlock gasped again. “Please, please, please...”

“As you wish,” John said darkly, then began thrusting in earnest. He groaned as Sherlock clenched around him, body flushed and quivering. “Faster Mary,” he gasped. “He's close. He's so close.”

“Yes,” Mary hissed, grasping Sherlock firmly so he could fuck up into the tunnel of her hand. “Come on, Sherlock. You going to come for us? You going to come around John's cock? You greedy thing, come on, let us see.” Sherlock sobbed, drawing in loud gasps of air as his body began to rhythmically clench around John. His sex throbbed in Mary's hand, red and swollen yet releasing no semen as it twitched and jerked, dry just as it was every time John had seen the Omega climax. John moaned, plunging in deep as his knot fully expanded, biting down gently on Sherlock's shoulder as he started filling him up again. Mary crooned, seemingly happy for the moment to watch the two men find their pleasure together.

Lost to the haze of his afterglow, it took John a moment to register Mary's worried voice.

“Sherlock?” she was saying. “What's wrong? Are you in pain?” John realized that the Omega was still whimpering, twitching slightly in his lap and thrashing his head back and forth.

“Sherlock?” John said, bringing a hand up to try and turn Sherlock's face towards his own. “Love, look at me, please?”

“Nooo...” the Omega moaned softly, full body spasm suddenly shaking his lean frame.

“John,” Mary whispered, “John, I think, I think it's...where _I'd_ normally come in.” Confused, John peered around Sherlock's shoulder, eyes widening when he caught sight of the Omega's sex. Instead of deflating as it usually did after climax, it was still red and swollen, curving sharply towards the Omega's taut belly. The large slit at the tip had parted, a viscous, white looking fluid with a remarkable resemblance to semen beginning to seep out. John let out a gasp which was lost beneath the sudden, shrill cry Sherlock gave out as a small, pink tendril slipped out through the fluid, snaking up Sherlock's belly.

“No!” the Omega cried. “You can't...I won't let you take them!” He suddenly began scrabbling around his sex, fingernails digging into the flesh around his groin and leaving raised, red welts.

“Sherlock!” Mary cried in distress, grabbing his hands. “You'll hurt yourself!”

_“Don't take them from me!”_ Sherlock sobbed wildly. _“Please, don't take them from me!”_

“Sherlock,” John said, speaking softly directly into the Omega's ear, hoping to somehow calm him. “Listen to me, love. You're with your mates. We're Mary and John, we're your mates. We love you, we aren't here to hurt you.” He tried to shift the sobbing man, only to realize he was still knotted inside of him. He clenched his eyes in pain, whining softly as Sherlock continued to struggle, deaf to John's reassurances.

“No,” he moaned piteously as the tendril began flicking in and out wildly, writhing through the quickly growing pool of fluid that was beginning to drip down his belly. “My loves,” he whimpered softly. “My loves, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” It registered somewhere in John's brain that somewhere, hidden within the mess, Mary's fertilized eggs were spilling out without a womb to hold them. He was surprised by the sudden stab of grief that speared through him, no doubt brought on by the elevated Alpha hormones flooded through his body, at the thought his children, their children, being lost to them. He found himself burning with resentment towards Mary, illogical as it all was. Yes, he had agreed that to add a child into their current madness would be unconscionable, but a dark, growling part of what made him Alpha was roaring in despair at the failed mating. He found himself nuzzling into Sherlock, silent tears seeping from his eyes as the Omega continued to sob wildly.

“Oh Sherlock,” Mary said brokenly. John looked up to find tears streaking her face as well, still struggling to keep the writhing Omega from injuring himself. “I'm sorry, too,” she whispered. John wondered if she felt it as well, this unexpected sense of loss. A brief glance between them confirmed his suspicions, easing some of the anger in his heart. At least they all could mourn together.

Sherlock continued to struggle half-heartedly until the tentacle-like tendril returned back into his body, the slit of his sex drawing closed again as John's knot finally deflated enough for him to slip out of the Omega's hole. John immediately transferred Sherlock onto his back, nuzzling and petting his face.

“We're here, love,” he whispered softly, kissing Sherlock's brow. “We're here for you.” Sherlock let out a shaky breath as Mary lay down on his other side, embracing the Omega's thin, trembling body.

“I never got to see them,” Sherlock gasped through his tears. “So many children, and I never got to even _see_ them.”

“We know love,” Mary said gently, the fond endearment slipping out for the first time. “We're so sorry you had to live through that.”

“Is there anything we can do for you?” John asked quietly, hand resting over Sherlock's chest.

“Just... _be_ with me,” he finally said, face twisted in misery.

“Always,” John promised, holding Sherlock close. The three of them cuddled close, each lost in their own silent grief. They comforted each other with the soft press of flesh and silent tears streaked across each others' skins, waiting for the feelings to subside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. To be honest, that chapter was not easy for me to write. In fact I re-wrote the ending of it entirely after finishing it. Hopefully it came out okay.
> 
> I think I had more planned out to say, but to be honest, I'm a bit worn out this weekend because I'm finally off light duty at work and put in a 10 hour day of overtime yesterday so I only had today off. So I think I'll keep this note short and sweet due to me being a bit brain dead at the moment. Thank you all, as always, for your continued support of my story! It helps keep me motivated to write :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't _think_ it's particularly triggering (in comparison to a lot of other elements in this story), but there is a main character illness that's revealed in this chapter. Just a heads up if that's something you're particularly sensitive to.

Sherlock had been asleep at least an hour, the three dozing peacefully together, when Mary began fidgeting restlessly.

“Been a while since I've gone so long without a shower,” she groused. “I'm not sure I've ever felt so disgusting.”

“Why don't you go get cleaned up then?” John said with a yawn, still feeling too drained to bother with moving just yet. “Not like either he or I are likely to move any time soon.”

“Yeah,” she said, rolling out of the damp, ruined sheets and stretching languidly. “I imagine both of you will be sore for a while after.”

“Don't remind me,” John groaned. “The chafing is _definitely_ going to have me walking funny for at least a week.” She grinned down at him, grabbing her long-discarded t-shirt from the floor.

“Don't you go looking for sympathy from me, John Watson,” she said good naturedly. “I saw with my own two eyes _exactly_ how much you enjoyed the activities that got you rubbed raw in the first place.”

“Yeah,” John said lazily, “definitely no complaints in the moment.” He sobered a bit, staring up at his wife. “I haven't forgotten our conversation, Mary,” he cautioned. “At some point, we _will_ need to talk.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed. “But not while I'm naked and crusted with old come.”

“Oh, god! You're disgusting!” John cried as Mary laughed and headed towards the door.

“I'm headed back to mine,” she said, “where my clothes are. I'll catch up with you two later.”

“Disgusting woman,” John muttered at her back, smiling as her responding giggle petered back to him as she left the room.

“She's not wrong, John, we _are_ rather caked with come,” a rumbling voice came from the lean form still wrapped in John's arms.

“Not you too,” John groaned. “Honestly, you _both_ are vile.” He smiled as Sherlock turned to peer up at John, still blinking sleep out of his eyes. “Hello love,” John said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Well fucked,” he replied with a sleepy grin.

“Smart ass,” John chuckled fondly. His smile faded slightly, remembering how distraught the Omega had been towards the end of his Heat. “Anything you want to talk about?” he asked cautiously.

“...No?” Sherlock said, peering at John confusedly. “Why should there be?” John gawked down at him in shock.

“Why should there...listen, Sherlock, I know you may not want to... _talk_ to me just yet, but come on. It's obvious you were struggling with...with...”

“With what?” the Omega growled lowly, eyes narrowing dangerously at John. “I've had my Heat, now it is done. What else is there to 'talk,'” he said, actually miming the quotation marks with his hands, “about besides that?”

John bristled slightly at Sherlock's harsh tone. He took a deep breath, telling himself that it wasn't John's place to tell Sherlock how to best deal with his trauma, though he strongly felt that acting as if nothing had happened was far from productive. “All right,” he finally said. “Fair enough. Just...if there ever _is_ anything you'd like to talk about, know that I'm here. For you. To talk to.” Sherlock blinked up at him, face blank. “If you want,” John muttered, floundering for more to say in the face of Sherlock's complete lack of reaction to his offers of support.

“So nice to know I finally have someone I can _chat_ with,” Sherlock snapped. He rolled away from John, sitting himself up, feet hanging off the side of the bed. “Think Mary had the right idea,” he said coolly. “A shower sounds perfect about now.”

“Want me to run it for you?” John asked, pushing himself up to sitting.

“I'm sure I can manage to figure out a few handles and some water,” Sherlock sneered, rebuffing John's offer with disdain as he propelled himself up out of the bed.

“Jesus, fine,” John said with exasperation. “Sorry for wanting to help!”

“I'm not a child, John!” Sherlock snapped as he entered the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

John sat fuming on the bed, pressing his hands to his face as he took deep breaths, working to lower his thundering pulse. He knew the likely cause of Sherlock suddenly lashing out like this. He'd done similar things many times to Mary during his early days of recovery. It still stung, though, to be treated in such a manner. Especially after having spent the last several days catering to the whims of the man. Just because he knew the reason for Sherlock's sudden cruelty, that didn't mean he was entirely immune to the man's barbed tongue. He was startled out of his musings, though, when he heard a loud thump coming from the direction of the bathroom.

He listened carefully, leery of offering any help in case the Omega had simply dropped something and would view John's solicitousness as another affront. Things were eerily silent on the other side of the door, though, piquing John's concern.

“Sherlock?” he called out, pausing as he waiting for a response. The silence continued, causing John to launch out of the bed towards the room. “Sherlock, are you all right?” he called out, trying the handle and finding the door locked. He continued to receive no response, not even any sounds of movement. “Listen,” he said sternly, “if I don't get an answer from you in the next few seconds, so help me god I will break this door open, locked or not.” He paused again, still hearing nothing from the other side. “Okay then! One, two...” on the count of three, John hurled his body against the door, easily breaking the flimsy lock as the door flung open.

Sherlock lay on his side on the tiled floor, still and pale. A small amount of blood had pooled around his midsection, seeming to stem from his backside. John flew to his side with a cry of alarm.

“Sherlock!” he called, rolling the Omega to his back as his hand flew to his neck to check for a pulse. It was weak and rapid, but thankfully there. The movement seemed to rouse Sherlock slightly, eyes fluttering open as he weakly tried to slap John's hand away.

“What...” he muttered, “what are you...why am I on the floor?”

“I'm not sure,” John said, placing a restraining hand against Sherlock's chest when the man tried to sit up. “Best stay down there, love,” he said gently. “You're bleeding a little and I'm not sure why yet.”

John saw as a sudden spark of recognition seemed to pass over the Omega's face. “Oh,” he said quietly, then let out a deep sigh. “It should stop in a moment, John. No need to panic.”

“I'll be the judge of that, thank you,” John said stiffly. “You know what this is, then?”

“I've seen it in others,” Sherlock replied, looking off to the side dully as if avoiding looking directly at John. “It's a...side effect of sorts.”

“Bleeding as a side effect?” John asked incredulously. “Care to elaborate?” Stony silence met his inquiry, finally sapping the last reserves of John's tried patience. “Sherlock Holmes, either you tell your doctor, who at the moment happens to be me, what the bloody hell is going on or you are going to be subjected to a very thorough examination of what I am sure is a currently very tender area, very soon.” He took a deep, calming breath as Sherlock glared up at him, arms crossing over his broad chest. “Now, will you _kindly_ tell me what is going on? So I can stop worrying about you? Hmmm?”

“Really John,” Sherlock sighed as if being greatly put-upon. “All this fuss over such a minor incident.”

“Sherlock,” John said warningly.

“Look,” the Omega snapped testily, “you remember how full of your semen I was towards the end, yes?” John blushed, murmuring an affirmative response. “Well after an Omega's heat is over, that all has to come _out_ again.” He waved an arm expressively up at John. “I mean, what, you thought I was just going to walk around forever with an ocean of come sloshing inside of me?” He made a disgusted, scoffing sound as John found himself reddening slightly, guiltily feeling a small spark of arousal at the unbidden image of Sherlock with a bloated, rounded belly that was all John's doing. He mentally shook it off, bringing himself back to the subject at hand.

“Is this usually accompanied by blood?” he asked, looking at the crimson puddle beneath the supine Omega that, thankfully, hadn't seemed to grow since John had entered the room.

“No,” Sherlock begrudgingly replied. “No, that is new. It usually happens in older Omegas. Who've had...who...” he waved his hand vaguely, clearly uncomfortable with the discussion. John, though, quickly saw what the man was trying to say.

“Excessive Heats put an undue strain on an Omega's body, yeah?” he asked softly, careful to keep his wording as impersonal as possible.

“Yes. Exactly,” Sherlock said flatly. “There's nothing to be done for it, it's just a progressive condition that eventually results in the removal of the Omega's internal reproductive organs once the damage is too severe and them being...retired.” He said these things stoically, still refusing to meet John's gaze as the Alpha felt his heart break just a little bit more over what those monsters had done to this brilliant man.

“So Omegas aren't in any immediate danger during the early stages of the illness?” he asked, reaching out to gently rub Sherlock's hand.

“No,” Sherlock said hoarsely, eyes suspiciously shiny. “No, they're just...more sore than usual.”

“All right,” John said softly, raising Sherlock's hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his palm. “Well I remember you mentioning a shower,” he said, forcing a false brightness into his voice. “Why don't you take care of getting clean and I'll just do some tidying up out here, hm?” He helped Sherlock into a sitting position, checking one last time to make sure he hadn't hit his head too badly when he'd fainted. Sherlock remained pale and withdrawn, though John determined that to be more due to another heavy, emotional shock than something to be worried about physically. Carefully, trying not to seem too overbearing, John helped Sherlock to his feet, immediately setting himself to the task of cleaning up the blood and, apparently, other more intimate fluids while Sherlock fiddled with the taps to the tub.

“John,” he heard Sherlock say quietly, pulling his attention away from his self appointed task. He looked up to find the Omega regarding John intently, eyes still shining in the dim light of the bathroom. “I don't deserve your kindness,” he rasped quietly. John abandoned his cleaning, drying his hands off on a towel before moving to stand before the man, reaching up to cradle the Omega's face.

“You deserve all my kindness and love,” he said softly, brushing his lips softly over Sherlock's. “Don't ever feel otherwise,” he breathed into Sherlock's mouth. He kissed the man softly one last time before stepping back to allow him some space, focusing once again on scrubbing the quickly drying blood from the tiles before it stained the grout too badly.

* * *

An hour and a half later and both Sherlock and John were clean, dressed in loose fitting and comfortable clothes, and positively starving.

“Maybe Mary's made us up some lunch,” Sherlock said hopefully, looking less pale and seeming more like himself. John snorted.

“Much as I love her, my wife's never been one for having dinner waiting for me when I get home,” he said as they trailed down the stairs towards the kitchen. “She's more likely to set the house on fire while boiling water than create anything edible.”

“Ah,” Sherlock replied, “I take it you learned to cook, then?”

“Yeah, one of us had to,” John said, smiling to himself as he remembered several of Mary's more memorable culinary attempts from the early days of their relationship. “I'm no master chef, mind you, but I've not received any complaints yet.”

“We'll see about that,” Sherlock rumbled, looking over his shoulder at John as they reached the kitchen. He turned as they passed through the doorway, then froze suddenly, causing John to run into him.

“Hey,” he said, taking a step back, “what's wrong?” He peered beyond the Omega and found both Molly and Mary seated at the table with Sebastian and a dark haired stranger, horrified expressions on their faces.

“Ah, the two love-birds finally emerge,” the stranger said in a soft, lilting voice. His eyes were a dark, nearly black brown, flat and shiny, lending him a strange almost reptilian look. His smile seemed friendly enough on the surface, but something about it set John's nerves on edge. It was a little _too_ friendly. _Too_ solicitous. Like how you'd expect a spider to smile before it invited you into its web.

“I'm sorry John,” Mary said softly. “I swear to you, I didn't know.”

“Didn't know what?” John asked uneasily.

_“It's you,”_ Sherlock gasped, staring at the seated stranger in wide-eyed terror.

“Well _obviously,”_ the stranger said, grinning savagely. “Honestly, Sherlock, I expected better from you. Yet here you are,” he said, gesturing toward him with his hand, “so _oblivious_ to everything that's been going on that I can't help but laugh.” He paused, grinning for long, tense seconds, before jumping forward and barking out a sudden, crazed _“HA!”_ that caused Sherlock to flinch back towards John.

“I must admit, I'm a little disappointed,” the stranger continued, leaning back casually in his chair. “I had _so_ missed our little discussions together.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes trained eerily on the horrified Omega. “Weather...religion...politics...” he grinned again, a smile that never reached his dead eyes. _“Biology.”_

“Look,” Sherlock said shakily, moving nearly imperceptibly in front of John, as if he were trying to shield him. “Whatever it is you want, there's no need to involve anyone else. I won't run, just let the rest of them go.”

The stranger let out another bark of laughter, throwing his head back in an exaggerated movement. _“Wrong!”_ he roared. “There is _every_ reason to involve them! Don't you understand, Sherlock?” He leaned forward, smiling devilishly. “I've been so _bored_ lately, Sherlock. So _very_ bored. But you four?” He gestured around the room. “I am going to have _so much fun_ making all of you _dance.”_

“Listen here,” John snarled, elbowing his way in front of Sherlock, slapping away the Omega's frantically clutching hands. “Just who the hell do you think you are, making threats like that?”

“Who, me?” the man asked in mock surprise. “Why, I'm Jim Moriarty. The 'Boss.'” He smiled, waving his fingers daintily at John. “Hi!”

“Well _Mr. Moriarty,”_ John growled, “I hate to break it to you, but _no one_ here is going to be dancing for you.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered urgently, tugging at John's shoulder. “Don't. You don't understand who this is.”

“What does it matter who the hell he is?” John growled, glaring down murderously at the still seated man where he lounged with an eager, almost childish expression, appearing delighted by John's fury.

“John, this man _is_ The Centre,” Sherlock said softly, his eyes shining with fear.

“H-he's what?” John stuttered.

“CEO of The Centre for Omega Fertility,” Moriarty drawled. “Third generation owner, in fact.”

“I don't understand,” John said, awash in confusion, prompting a condescending smirk from the seated man. “The Centre is a government agency.”

“Oh it was,” Moriarty grinned. “Years ago, directly after the war, but it's been privately owned and run for decades now.” He tilted his head again. “Those suits at the top do _so_ hate getting their hands dirty with _distasteful_ business. So much better to let someone else do it for them.” He leaned forward on his elbows, peering intently at John. “Weren't you the least bit curious at how easy it was to get him out?” He gestured with his head towards Sherlock, the Omega still grimacing unhappily behind John. “How no one seemed to be following you?” He cocked his head to the side again, eyes seeming to burn into John. “No, I suppose a dog just does what it's told,” he murmured. “John Watson, loyal _pet.”_

“Look, I refuse to be intimidated,” John snarled, drawing himself up to his full height, seething with righteous anger. “No matter who or _what_ you claim to be.”

_“Oh!_ So _lively_ I can see why you like him!” Moriarty exclaimed. “Is he this protective of you both?” he asked, gesturing between Mary and Sherlock. “Even after all you've done?” he leered at Mary mockingly, laying a palm over her tightly laced hands, grin growing broader when he noticed her nearly imperceptible flinch. “You mean he doesn't _know?”_ he chortled gleefully. “Oh you bad, bad girl.”

“Know what?” John couldn't help but ask. “What don't I know?”

“Please,” Mary whispered. “Please don't.”

“Why John,” Moriarty said, ignoring Mary entirely as his eerie eyes fixed on the fuming Alpha. “Only that she's the one who put Sherlock in The Centre in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oh no Mary how could you!_ Now, remember lovelies, this is Moriarty we're dealing with. Things aren't always as simple as they seem. ;)
> 
> In case you were wondering, Moriarty (written as closely as I could to the way Andrew Scott played him) is _the most fun to write._ Seriously, I enjoyed the hell out of writing him in that scene. He is _awful_ and I love it.
> 
> Unfortunately, my dears, it is very likely that the next chapter (which will be all of Mary's back story, including her history with Sherlock) won't be ready by next week. Me working last weekend threw a spanner in my writing process and this chapter here was the very last of what I had already written. So unfortunately we're down to only what's up in my head still. Hang in there, though, I will be back! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and also _so many thanks to you amazing people who have left over 200 kudos!_ Seriously, that means a lot to me, especially being a first time writer on here. You guys are awesome!


	26. -Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief, mild gore/violence in this chapter. Please consider your triggers and proceed accordingly.

It seemed like Lucy Ferrier had been born with a gun in her hands. Indeed, her earliest memory was of her father patiently adjusting her stance as she aimed at, and hit, a can at least 27 meters away with the .22 calibre rifle he'd just gifted her. She never thought much of it, not having other children nearby to compare herself with. The only outside interaction with others she ever had growing up on her family's isolated farm were the groups of men that would occasionally come meet with her father. Wild eyed men who would draw her up onto their knees, tickle her with their whiskers until she laughed and then demand she show them just how far off a target she could hit.

“We need her, Jonathan,” they'd laugh to her father. “An eye like that's a rare thing, to be sure.”

She was only thirteen the first time her father brought her along on a raid, explaining to her thoroughly the good he and his boys were doing.

“They've no right to be tellin' us what to do, Lu,” he repeated earnestly as she kept her gaze trained towards the building they were watching. “Free men and women, that's us. There's bound to be casualties in the fight to protect what's ours.” She hummed her agreement, though inwardly she wondered just what it was they were fighting to protect. As near as she could tell, no one ever came out to bother them on their farm. They were free to live exactly as they pleased. No one seemed to be trying to take anything from them. Lucy loved her father, though. Would do just about anything to please him. So when she looked through her scope directly into the eyes of the officer she was aiming at, she barely flinched at all as she pulled the trigger and watched his head explode in a spray of crimson.

It wasn't until she was seventeen that her doubts finally became too great to ignore.

“It's not right, what you're doing, Da,” she argued heatedly with him, hastily packed duffel bag and rifle slung over her shoulder as she stood in the doorway to their house. “You talk about freedom, but all I see are us hunting poor, terrified people. We're terrorists, with what we do.”

“You say that now,” her father sneered, “but you'll see soon enough. The world out there's all wolves and sheep, Lu. An' I'd rather be a wolf than a sheep. Begone then, you blind and foolish girl.”

Leave she did, with little idea of what to do with herself. She'd never received any sort of schooling, aside from what her father had deigned to teach her about killing and his crusade. She usually managed to end up with a roof over her head, staying with various “freedom fighters” she'd befriended over the years who weren't intimidated by her father. It quickly became apparent, though, that she would have to find some way to support herself.

This was when she learned how much money people were willing to pay to have other people killed.

It bothered her, it did, that she'd seemed to switch from one evil to another, but at least these deaths she was able to justify to herself. Underlings in criminal organizations who'd said one word too many, no doubt with a list of sins over a kilometre long. Political enemies, guilty of embezzling public funds. Human traffickers for whom destroying human lives wasn't enough, they had to also steal on top of it. Everybody was guilty of something. Everybody was in some way deserving of the bullet she was sending them. Surely this was true.

The government jobs were always the most lucrative. They were also the ones where she usually learned skills outside her handiness with a gun. Sent in as a quiet shadow in a war-torn country, the teams she worked with had to be handy at patching each other up, as entering a hospital with a gunshot wound tended to raise suspicions from the local constabulary. The men soon began referring to her as “The Hand,” as seemingly her hands could bring either life or death, depending on their mission. Secretly, she much preferred healing to hurting, but by this point it seemed too late to make any lasting changes. Who could ever see her as anything other than the monster she surely was?

She often never saw the faces of her employers. Indeed, she knew for a fact that the names her sponsors gave her were usually false. It mattered little to her, as long as the money was good. Such was the case for her latest enterprise that found her perched on a roof, across from St. Bart's hospital in the middle of the capital city, leisurely preparing for her next mark.

It was a bit unusual, in that the intent this day wasn't to kill, but to incapacitate. A strong, supposedly instantaneous sedative was loaded into a dart. She had a picture of her intended victim hidden in her pocket. This one was young. A student at the local university. She wasn't sure what the Alpha could have possibly done at such a young age, but experience had taught her that it was often the most innocent looking who held the darkest secrets. It mattered little that his dark curls, pale skin and piercing, multi-coloured eyes gave him an almost ethereal appearance, like something plucked from a renaissance painting. He was still as good as caught already under Lucy's watchful eye.

She watched with mild curiosity as he came to stand at the edge of the roof, drawing a bead on him as he did. He seemed to be talking to someone just behind him, though whoever it was stayed well out of sight. Waiting patiently, she saw the young Alpha raise his hand, almost as if waving to someone down below on the street. This was the pre-arranged signal Lucy had been told to expect, and she didn't flinch at all as she pulled the trigger and let the dart fly.

Her aim was true, as it always was, and she watched as the young man crumpled forward, pitching head first off the side of the building. Nodding to herself, Lucy calmly dismantled her gun, packing all her gear away and moving quickly down the stairs towards the checkpoint where she'd be picked up.

A nondescript van soon pulled around the corner, coming to a stop just in front of her. The back door was flung open and she quickly scrambled inside, somewhat surprised to find her target sprawled inelegantly in the back under the watchful eye of several of her team mates.

“I thought he was being collected by the other team?” she asked, tossing her gear inside and accepting a helping hand up from one of her compatriots.

“Change of plans,” her team mate replied. “Unexpected witnesses, B team had to improvise.”

“Are we compromised? she asked.

“Negative,” was the response. “The only change is that we are to head to the drop off point with the cargo instead of B team.” Mary shrugged, turning her attention to the man on the floor. She noticed with mildly detached interest that he seemed to be groggily blinking awake.

“Seems like the sedative could have used a few more test runs,” she said irritatedly as she sunk to her knees next to the man. “Hey now,” she said in a deceptively soft voice. “You're not going to give us any trouble now, are you?” She smiled sweetly, hoping to keep the man calm as he blinked up at her in confusion.

“Where...” came a deep, rumbling baritone that didn't seem to match up to his sweet, young face as he looked around himself in growing alarm.

“Shhh...” Lucy said, laying a hand on his chest to keep him from rising. “It's best if you don't struggle,” she murmured. “Just because I haven't killed you yet, that doesn't mean I won't if you give me enough reason.” His eyes snapped to her face, studying her closely as his warm chest rose and fell under her splayed hand. Suddenly, he began chuckling softly, a quiet, humourless sound as his head fell to the side.

“Of course,” he whispered. “Of course it would be you.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked sharply, digging her fingers slightly into his chest.

“What is your name?” the man asked instead, deep voice vibrating up through her arm and raising goosebumps on her skin.

“Nice try, pretty boy,” she said darkly.

“Pretty?” he rumbled. “My, my, aren't you the flatterer.” She stared down at him in confusion, wondering at his odd reactions.

“You're seeming awfully calm,” she said curiously. He shrugged gently, gazing intently at her.

“Nothing for it,” he said dully. “Don't suppose you can tell me where you're taking me?”

“Info's above my pay grade,” she said dismissively. “Though I wouldn't tell you even if I knew.”

“Of course,” he demurred. “Silly of me to ask.” They lapsed into silence. Lucy found herself puzzled by this man. He didn't seem like any of her previous targets. Usually she was sharp enough that she could pick out details about her marks, see what it was they'd done to deserve their punishment. This man, though, seemed exactly like what the package said: young, bright university student. She found herself burning with a need to know more, to root out his hidden misdeed.

“So what's your story then?” she finally asked.

“Who says I have a story?” the man replied.

_“Everybody_ has a story,” she said firmly.

“Oh of course,” he said, smirking for a brief moment before lapsing back into a more sombre expression. “Just at the wrong place at the wrong time,” he finally said. “Wrong decade,” he muttered more softly. “Wrong century.” Lucy frowned, puzzlement growing at his cryptic remark.

“Well you must have done _something,”_ she pressed.

“Feeling a need to justify yourself?” the man asked drily.

“No one would have gone to all this trouble over a small thing,” she replied.

“You're right,” he said simply. “They wouldn't.” He fell silent again, eyes drifting off to stare at the wall of the van, his dismissal raising her ire in a way no one had managed for years. He seemed to sense this, eyes turning back to pin her with an inquisitive stare.

“Tell me,” he finally said. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because somebody paid me,” she said quickly. He shook his head, reaching up to lay his hand over hers where it still rested against his chest.

“No,” he said softly. “Why are you doing _this?”_ She realized he was asking why she'd chosen her line of work, _this_ meaning all the things she did.

“Bills need to get paid somehow,” she shrugged, feeling unaccountably uneasy at his line of questioning.

“But do you enjoy it?” he pressed, eyes seeming to burn into her, viewing the secret, hidden spaces she'd kept veiled from the world, even herself, for years. The part that had prompted her to leave home and comfort. The part that was still searching desperately for any good people in the world.

“What does it matter?” she eventually whispered. He stared at her intently, seeming to see all the uncertainties and self doubt flitting below her skin.

“You remind me of a painting my parents had,” he said eventually. “Of the Virgin Mary.” This surprised a laugh out of her, a loud bark of incredulous sound.

“Well that's definitely a new one,” she chuckled. He smiled at her, hand tightening infinitesimally over hers.

“Perhaps not in such an _obvious_ way,” he demurred, “but she had this sadness to her. Something you couldn't see, if you looked directly at her, but a subtle sorrow you'd notice out of the corner of your eye, like she'd seen just a bit too much.”

“So you think I look sad, then?” she asked, secretly soaking in the warmth of his hand through her glove. He merely smiled up at her enigmatically.

She registered a bustling around her, and realized the van had come to a stop. She felt a sudden urge to do something insane and drastic, like free this fascinating man. Shoot the other people in the van and escape with the Alpha in a blaze of glory. Some of this must have shown on her face, for the man was suddenly shaking his head minutely, gaze sad when he met her eyes.

“Not worth it,” he warned quietly.

“I...” she trailed off, uncertain what to say or why she felt a need to say anything at all.

“I think I shall call you Mary,” he said suddenly, smiling up at her weakly. “Since you haven't given me anything else to go on.” He reached up then, briefly brushing his long fingers gently against her face, sending a slight shiver of warmth down her spine at the soft touch. “And you can call me Sherlock,” he murmured. He smiled at her one last time before his expression changed to one of growing terror as several large men manhandled him out of the van, ripping him away from Lucy as she looked on in dismay.

“Sherlock!” she called after him, but he shook his head wildly. She stayed rooted in place, watching helplessly as he was quickly bound and gagged before being tossed into the back of another van which drove speedily away.

Things never felt quite the same way for Lucy after that. She found herself questioning the jobs she was assigned, a prick of something almost like a conscience making her wonder if any of these people actually deserved what was happening to them. Eventually, she found that she could take no more.

“I want out,” she told the government spook seated across from her. “If I do this job for you, I want a new identity, history, job references, all of it.”

“What is it you'd like to do instead?” he asked her incredulously, clearly taken aback at her sudden change of heart.

“I've always liked patching people back together,” she mused. “Maybe some kind of nursing job?” She looked at him sharply. “And my name will be Mary.”

“Mary what?” the man asked in bewilderment.

“As long as it's Mary, the rest of it doesn't matter,” she said firmly.

So it was that Mary Angelina Morston found herself working as a nurse in an army rehabilitation hospital. All the money she'd set aside over the years from her life as “The Hand” was put to good use, greasing all the necessary palms to provide her with a father and mother (deceased), a birthplace, school and university transcripts and records, and a list of previous employers all available to call as references if the need should ever arise. 

Mary, unlike Lucy, made friends with her co-workers. She'd go out for drinks after work with them. She'd help throw baby and bridal showers, loved wearing floral prints, took up scrapbooking as a hobby, had the occasional girls' night out. Sometimes, feeling grateful for her new life, she'd raise her glass in a silent toast to Sherlock, the mysterious impetus for her change of heart. She thought she'd never been happier.

It wasn't until she met John Watson, the broken yet impossibly strong man she would eventually marry that she learned what she thought of before as happiness was a mere shadow of the genuine article. Though prickly in his early days at the rehab centre, John was everything she'd always wanted to believe could exist in a person. He was loyal, honest, loving, thoughtful, strong, intelligent, handsome, everything Mary could possibly want. It pained her more than words could ever say when she learned that this man, her perfect Alpha, had known and loved Sherlock -for surely it was the same man Lucy had taken down, it was such an uncommon name- to the point that she nearly called things off with John. For how could she keep him when she had, unbeknownst to him, caused him so much suffering? In the end, though, she couldn't bring herself to let him go. Mary may have been a kinder, gentler person than Lucy ever could have been, but she was still human, and still given to bouts of selfishness. Make no mistake about it, Mary wanted John more than she'd ever wanted anything before in her brief, tumultuous life, so she held her secret close. She put it aside in a tiny box inside her chest, buried it under her love for John, and secretly begged Sherlock's forgiveness for taking what was rightfully his.

Her perfect, stolen life all came crashing down, though, when John returned from The Centre with the name “Sherlock” on his lips and a brightness in his eyes Mary had never seen before. The dark, wicked beast that laid hidden underneath her floral blouses and bright blue eyes howled in rage at the thought of John being taken from her. It made sense, suddenly, why Sherlock was caught. She wasn't sure what the story was, if he was truly an Omega or if the Alpha she remembered had been somehow changed, but whatever the case that would definitely have been a secret worth capturing. She was instantly terrified that John would learn the truth. For surely if he did, her honest, loyal husband would finally see her for the monster she truly was. She tried to put him off. Dissuade him from any thoughts of rescue. She rationalized that although she could see him suffering, though his misery was palpable, once the whole ordeal was over he would soon forget this entire Sherlock business. A small, horrified part of her whispered that Sherlock deserved better, that whether the man was an Alpha or Omega he'd still inadvertently helped save Mary's life, but her fear quickly clamoured to quiet it. Sherlock had already been sacrificed, there was nothing to be done about the past. The sooner it was buried, the sooner she and John could get back to living their lives.

It wasn't until she found the pill container in the trash that she realized just how in the wrong she was. Of course John would sacrifice himself for Sherlock. Of course he would do all he could to save him. Frantically, Mary raced to The Centre, ready to tell John everything and split the whole mystery wide open, only to find he'd already been transferred to the hospital, victim of some sort of attack.

Seeing John delirious with fever, pale and diminished on the bed with blood seeping through the bandage on his neck solidified the guilt in Mary's mind, her fear evaporating in the face of what she'd done. By trying to keep John she had very nearly lost him, and the shame of her actions burned through her like wildfire. She knew it would ruin her, knew without a doubt that this marked the beginning of the end of Mary Watson, but it mattered not. She swore, upon John's feverish body, that she would find a way to make things right for both her beloved husband and the man who'd saved her all those years ago.

Calls were quickly made, old favours called in and, though she knew better than to trust the man, making a deal with the devil known as Jim Moriarty was the only way to solidify a plan for saving both Sherlock and John. She would owe him, oh would she owe him for the favour. She took time to practice her old skills in secret, away where John couldn't see her and found that much like riding a bicycle, shooting a gun was an innate skill she would never lose. She let herself fantasize about a life where she got to keep John, where somehow Sherlock wouldn't steal him away and leave her behind indebted to the greatest criminal mastermind the continent had ever seen. She knew though, down to her bones, that fantasy was all it was. She would spend the rest of her life paying for Sherlock's freedom, alone without John's touch. She couldn't help but feel a quiet rage at the man, that he was about to cost her so much.

The rage peaked when, reunited with John after Sherlock's daring rescue, she saw it had already happened. That already he was Sherlock's, and that even this small, remaining time with her husband was stolen from her as well. She seethed inwardly at the Omega, furious that he couldn't have given her this one, small thing. That he hadn't had the decency to just _wait._

It was with this boiling cauldron of animosity that she faced the Omega for the first time in decades, away from prying eyes and free to rip his heart from his ribcage if she so chose. Which is why, when Sherlock surged forward and kissed her, she was taken so completely by surprise.

“My Mary,” he rumbled, nuzzling at her ardently. “My Mary.”

“Jesus,” she wheezed, palms pressed against his broad chest.

“Sorry,” he gasped, stepping back just a little, just so there was a breadth of space between them. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“I'm not your Mary,” she whispered, years of repressed guilt over all her crimes bubbling up, exposed to this man's piercing, searching eyes. “I'm not your parents' painting. I'm...I'm a monster-”

“No,” he whispered fervently, pressing soft kisses to her upturned face as the blood in her veins burned brightly. “No, you're my saviour, my salvation-”

“I'm the one who caught you,” she choked out. “I wanted to leave you to rot. It's John you owe, not me. If not for me-”

“Mary,” he cooed, drawing back, eyes burning down into hers. “Mary, can you not see?” He petted her adoringly, fingers running through her short, blond hair. “You kept him for me,” he purred. “You kept him safe, you healed his wounds, you brought him back.” He placed a reverent kiss to her forehead, causing her to tremble in his arms.

“And now you'll take him from me,” she rasped. “You've left me all alone.”

“Never,” he declared, pulling her close to his feverish body. “You're mine, you're _ours_ now. Don't you see?”

“Sherlock,” she breathed, clutching at him, the spicy scent of him filling her nostrils.

“I found you both,” he growled, “and now you both found _me._ Now _nothing_ can part us.” She whimpered, seeking out his mouth, drawn to him by some unseen magnetic force, a fierce joy bubbling in her chest.

“I've done terrible things,” she whispered against his parted lips, still trying to give warning. “Must _still_ do terrible things. To protect you both.”

“Let me help you,” he begged. “Please, just let me keep you.” They locked eyes, his gaze feeling like a purifying fire. “Let me have you,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered, gazing up in wonder at this man she barely knew, yet felt as if she'd always known. A desire be tied to him burned through her, eradicating all other thoughts aside from him. “Yes, have all of me. You can have it all.”

Mary Watson never knew she was missing part of herself until she woke up next to both her husband and her mate. She never knew she was incomplete until she saw the other two parts of her heart laying outside of her body beside her on the bed. She never knew until Jim Moriarty, the spider she realized too late had woven his web around them, just how vulnerable a heart could make her. She didn't realize until John turned toward her with accusing eyes, hatred burning where once there was love, how painful a heart was to lose.

She wasn't sure how she was expected to live without one, now that her monstrous past had come to light and destroyed all the things she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I know last week I said there wouldn't be an update this weekend, but then I posted the last chapter and proceeded to have the best writing session I'd had in _ages._ So here's Mary's story! Hopefully it's not too jarring to have a chapter not from John's p.o.v. He's great, but I wanted to be able to tell her side of things. :)
> 
> Side note: When I listened to Beyonce's "Lemonade" album for the first time, there were two songs in particular ("Daddy Lessons" and "Six Inch Heels") that made me go, "Yes, _that_ is Mary right there." (I was going to post links to them here, but all the versions I found on youtube were corrupted and either sped up or slow down.) If music helps you connect with characters at all, though, like it does me, highly recommend listening to those two songs. (Plus, ya know, that entire album because it is _so good._ )
> 
> And now, really, truly, no lie, there _will not_ be an update next weekend, as I didn't have the chance to do any writing this weekend. To be honest, updates may get spotty for a bit. I not only work full time, I'm also in my last quarter of school (until Sept.) and have homework to deal with that, unfortunately, must take priority over storytelling. I hope to return soon, though! Until I do, thank you thank you for the continuing support for this story, I can't wait to share more of it with you!


	27. Chapter 27

“How could you?” John whispered brokenly. “You...you knew how I...” he trailed off, eyes burning as he glared at where Mary, or rather _Lucy,_ sat pale and mute.

“John,” Sherlock murmured in his ear, “I hardly think now is the time to-”

_“No, Sherlock!”_ John hissed furiously. “Do _not_ try and tell me what I should be doing!”

“Now, now,” Moriarty simpered, causing John's focus to whip back towards him. “You and the missus will have _plenty_ of time to hash out all the sordid, little details, but right now,” he gestured towards his pale, leering face, “eyes on Daddy.”

“You sick fuck,” John choked, incensed rage easily transitioning to a different target. “How can you do this? Those are _people_ you have imprisoned.”

“People?” the man scoffed. “People are _boring._ And, funnily enough, profitable as well.”

“Why you-” John snarled as he stalked forward, fully intended to wrap his hands around the man's neck and squeeze until his smug grin changed to something more pained. His movements were aborted, though, as Sebastian quickly manoeuvred himself between John and his intended target, gun drawn and pointed towards the doctor's face.

“See, I have a guard dog of my own,” Moriarty said calmly. “So why don't you be a good boy, and let's all have a seat and have ourselves a nice little chat.”

John remained standing, glaring helplessly at the towering Sebastian, wishing with all his might for some sort of weapon. None were forthcoming, though, and soon the feeling of Sherlock's gentle hand on his shoulder drew him back to the present, allowing the Omega to lead him away towards one of the table's empty chairs.

“What is it you want, then?” he ground out as he lowered himself into his seat, Sherlock following suit in the chair next to his.

“From you?” Moriarty sneered, “nothing. You're just incentive. Collateral, if you will.” Ignoring John's intensifying scowl, he turned his attention to Sherlock. “You, though,” he said as he coolly assessed the pale yet composed Omega before him, “left some unfinished business behind.”

Sherlock blinked several times in rapid succession, obviously caught off guard. “I thought that was why you took me in the first place?” he said curiously.

“Oh it was,” Moriarty said dismissively, “but now I've changed my mind.” He grinned menacingly. “I'm _very_ changeable, you know.”

“My...the research...” Sherlock said slowly, “you know it's been years since-”

“Oh don't be dense!” the man suddenly exploded. “Of _course_ it's all here! Your notes, records of your precious experiments, I even set up a bloody approximation of your lab!” He scoffed, face pinched in disgust. “Really, you _have_ let yourself go.”

“Well what the hell did you expect?” Sherlock rumbled, finally seeming to push past his initial shock and fear. “After all you did to me-”

“Oh don't act like you didn't enjoy it,” Moriarty grinned savagely. “I know just how often you were gagging for it.” Both John and Sherlock growled, starting to rise to their feet until Sebastian audibly cocked the hammer of his weapon, icy blue eyes trained between the two men.

“ _There's_ the excitement I was expecting,” Moriarty chortled, leaning back again in his chair. “Now listen, Princess,” he said, gesturing towards the still glowering Sherlock, “it's still bad for business if your little experiment gets out to the public,” John couldn't help but glance curiously at his mate at those words, though it didn't keep the monster from continuing his speech. “But what with the state of Omegas these days, it's occurred to me that a backup plan might become necessary.”

“Perhaps if you didn't treat your 'product' like mere livestock,” Sherlock growled, “you wouldn't be in need of my services.”

Moriarty seemed to consider this for several seconds, then shook his head, grinning. “Nah,” he finally drawled, “I'm having _far_ too much fun to change things now. However,” he continued, sobering slightly, “business is still business. And I like to make sure I'm prepared.” He waved carelessly towards Molly. “You can use this one as a lab assistant if you like,” he said in a bored tone. “I've been told it's not entirely stupid.” Molly shrank in on herself with a cringe, a small, distressed sound trickling out through her grimace. “As for you,” he said, turning toward Mary with a bright smile, “don't you worry, darlin', I'll be keeping you _plenty_ busy.” The Beta blanched, expression miserable as she glanced in John and Sherlock's direction. John merely scowled in response, anger still heavy and thick in his chest at the barest thought of his wife's misdeeds. She quickly looked away, meekly lowering her head in slight deference to her new employer.

“Well,” Moriarty said, rising to his feet, “as much fun as this little chat has been, I'm afraid I've got to run.” He smiled thinly, head cocking slightly to the side. “Criminal empire to run and all that. You two,” he said darkly, jutting his thumbs out in Mary and Sebastian's directions, “you're with me. Frank,” he called out, looking at a point beyond where John and Sherlock were still seated, “kindly keep an eye on these three, won't you?”

“Not a problem, Boss,” a thick, gravelly voice responded. John turned back towards the kitchen doorway to find a man leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest with a mean expression on his face. His gun was jutting very prominently from where his blazer had pulled back to expose his shoulder holster, a transparent attempt at intimidation that did little to phase John and his indignant anger. There were signs that Frank had once been a handsome man, with carefully quaffed hair slicked back from his face and his skin nicely tanned, but middle age had begun pulling everything downwards and the rather alarming tufts of hair growing out of his ears made it somewhat hard to take the Alpha seriously. The gun, however, and his fear about Sherlock getting injured in a potential scuffle, helped John keep his seat as Moriarty swaggered past him on his way out.

Mary turned back towards them one last time, looking lost and despondent. “John,” she whispered beseechingly. John merely narrowed his eyes, unwilling to offer any comfort. At her soft sound of despair, Sherlock suddenly snorted inelegantly next to him.

“Honestly John,” he tisked, rising to his feet and striding over to Mary, wrapping her securely in her arms. John watched, flabbergasted as he nuzzled against her neck, murmuring something quietly that caused her to choke out a brief, unhappy sound. He pulled back, cupping her face gently, before turning towards John with a thunderous expression.

“For goddsakes, wish your wife well, man,” he hissed. John merely crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raising in challenge. Sherlock sighed, clearly disappointed with his decision, and softly pecked a kiss on Mary's forehead. “Best be off,” he whispered to her. With a final nod, and one last dejected look towards John, Mary hurried off.

* * *

“So what exactly was he talking about, continuing your research?” John asked, trailing behind both Sherlock and Molly as they followed Frank's lumbering form toward what was presumably Sherlock's newly appointed lab space. He was still burning with angry questions about Mary and Sherlock's apparent indifference towards her ruthless past, but now hardly seemed the time to discuss it, prompting John's decision to keep to less tumultuous lines of conversation.

Sherlock left him dangling for a long moment, seemingly lost in his thoughts, before sliding his eyes over to glance at John. “I don't suppose you remember how evasive I was about explaining my areas of study, back in University?” he finally said.

“You were always chasing me out of our dorm room,” John said face creasing slightly with fond amusement at the memory. “Tinkering away with all your experiments. I always assumed it was me being too distracting. Disturbing your great mind palace or something.”

“You _were_ distracting,” Sherlock mused, “but that wasn't reason enough to run you off.” He paused another long moment. “I had to keep my research secret.”

“Well, yeah,” John said with mild irritation, “I kind of gathered that already. Pretty sure you don't need to keep it from me at this point, though.”

“Sorry,” the Omega demurred. “Old habits and all that.” He sighed, training his gaze off down the hallway. “I was inventing an artificial insemination process. One that would allow Alphas and Betas to procreate without need for an Omega.” He smiled sadly at John's resulting exclamation of excitement.

“But Sherlock, that's wonderful!”

“Yes,” the Omega mused, “it would have been.” His face took on a dreamy expression, obviously thinking back to his younger self. “I was so close,” he whispered. “Everything on paper was flawless, entirely without fault. All that was left was for my theories to be tested. But then...” He trailed off, pain flashing across his face as he let his silence speak to what had happened.

“That's how he got you,” Molly chimed in softly. “Isn't it? Medical resources the schools didn't have?”

“He seemed too good to be true,” Sherlock replied, nodding stiffly. “Access to illegal Omega hormones, different genetic sample groups, updated medical texts and studies, _Omega cadavers_ available for study...” he hung his head, eyes clenched tight. “I was such a fool. Too excited by the prospect of new data to ask the right questions.”

“Hey,” John interjected, “it's no small thing you were trying to accomplish. No wonder you weren't as observant as usual.” He rubbed the Omega's arm soothingly. “This technology could save the Omega population.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said softly, “it could have. Once. But now, now it's just another piece of power that _he_ will have at his disposal.” He looked at John, expression hardened and cold. “Now, I just continue to doom my people,” he bit out harshly. “All because of my arrogance and failure.” He twitched away from John, quickening his steps so there was distance between them, head bowed and shoulders hunched. John felt powerless as he let him go, knowing any words he uttered would be useless platitudes to the tortured man.

Sherlock's sour mood seemed to lessen slightly as they finally reached the lab, eyes quickly darting around to the resources he had available. There were the expected test tubes and microscopes to be found, but there was also a great deal of medical equipment cluttered about the space, along with an exam table and several shelves housing what seemed to be hospital gowns and blankets. Obviously Moriarty was expecting an eventual clinical trial at some point. John wondered absently how that was going to work as Sherlock quickly made a beeline toward a large stack of papers resting on a nearby table, immediately beginning to page through the slightly yellowed pages.

“Now don't you be trying anything funny,” Frank rumbled with what John supposed was meant to be an intimidating glare. “Even if I'm not in here, there's cameras everywhere about the house. I will see anything you're up to.” Sherlock, much to John's amusement, merely waved a dismissive hand in the Alpha's direction.

“Yes, yes,” he said absently, “we are all very intimidated right now.” He trailed off into vague muttering, shuffling the papers around with seeming annoyance, ignoring Frank's responding scowl.

“Well...just don't,” the man finally said. “Try anything.” Waiting for a lingering moment, not receiving anything more than more mutters directed at the pages that had quickly absorbed the Omega's attentions, Frank finally let out a soft huff of disgust and stomped out of the room.

John quickly shuffled over to Sherlock. “So, what's the plan, then?” he hissed softly.

“Plan?” Sherlock asked distractedly.

“Yeah, how are we gonna give 'em the slip?” 

Sherlock paused, looking over at John in genuine confusion. “What makes you think I have a plan, John?” John hemmed and hawed, starting to feel foolish under Sherlock's penetrating gaze.

“Well,” he said softly, “back in the day, you...you always had a plan.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “I mean...did you really not know? About Moriarty?” Sherlock's resulting frown made him shrink back slightly, surprised by its ferocity.

“John,” he said flatly, “do you honestly believe, that after _over a decade in captivity,_ I would have any thought in my head other than relief at finally being free and reunited with my mates?” He pivoted slightly so that he was facing directly toward John, towering over the Alpha as he radiated displeasure. “You honestly think I could somehow have a _plan?_ For _this?”_

“You always did before,” John whispered softly, feeling like a heel as soon as he'd said it when he saw the resulting flash of pain cross Sherlock's face at his words.

“I'm sorry to disappoint,” the Omega said stiffly. “But as for plans, my plan now is to try and...pick up where I left off,” here he gestured towards the now disarrayed pile of papers, “and try to reproduce my research. Just as Moriarty directed.” He ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair, distress pouring off of him in waves. “I just pray that the damage to my mind isn't so severe that I can't re-learn my own processes.”

“Hey,” John said, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did.” He smiled sadly up at his mate, rubbing his shoulder gently. “I guess this just reminded me a bit of old times.” He smiled a little more broadly. “A seemingly impossible problem, you and me against the world.” Sherlock flashed a brief, strained smile.

“Well,” he said, glancing toward where Molly was waiting for them to be finished with their exchange, “luckily for us, this time we've a bit of help. Now,” he said, shaking his head slightly as he pulled back from John, refocusing on the business at hand. “Molly, come help me with these notes. Some idiot has shuffled them and they are completely unusable like this. Honestly, if they'd just kept them in the order I left them in...” he trailed off, muttering slightly under his breath as both John and Molly, smiling softly at the man, began with the tedious task of assisting Sherlock to re-establish some sort of order to his years old research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Sorry it's been so long since the last update. Life has been somewhat hectic. The good news is I have this last section of the story pretty well mapped out. We're in the home stretch! The bad news is, unfortunately, I am still unable to guarantee a concrete update schedule until my school wraps up in mid September. I will try my best not to leave you hanging, but don't want to make any promises I can't fulfill.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for the continued support for my little story. Your kind words and kudos mean an awful lot to this writer! <3
> 
> (On a completely unrelated note, is anyone else out there reading and loving Ampersand as well? It is so good so far. My smile is just huge every time I see it update!)


	28. Not a chapter, but an update.

Hello lovely readers.

Just wanted to let folks know that I'm not dead and the story's not abandoned. Life has just been a bit difficult lately. Without going into too much detail, I will say that my husband, who had 4 1/2 years of sobriety, relapsed in a fairly bad way at the end of Aug. Thankfully, he's just about done with an excellent treatment program and I'm seeing lots of reasons to feel cautiously optimistic, but it's been a rough couple weeks to say the least. (Add to that me finishing my schooling and working 200 hours last month and there's my life in a nutshell.)

I'm not sure when I'll be able to write again. I had the rough draft of the next chapter all written out but on top of everything else my laptop died and the chapter, plus my outline for the rest of the story, were lost. New laptops can be gotten, but I'm not sure the energy to climb back in the saddle to re-write what was lost is there just yet. But! There will come a time when I'll return and finish this up. That much I can promise you.

Anyways that's enough out of me. Obviously I'll be erasing this rambling thing once I pick this story back up, but I didn't want folks to think I'd abandoned it. Hoping to be back soon! Take care all!


End file.
